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Thomas  j.  Hoban 


J.W.RANSTEAD’S 
LIBRARY. 
ELGIN,  - ILL. 


ADDRESSES 


AND 


ORATIONS 


RUFUS  CHOATE. 


SEVENTH  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 
1897. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1878,  by 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  WashingtoiL 


CAMBRIDGE  : 


PRESS  OF  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Importance  of  Illustrating  New  England 
History  by  a Series  of  Komances  like  the 
Wayerley  Novels.  Delivered  at  Salem,  1833  . . 1 

The  Colonial  Age  of  New  England.  An  Address 
delivered  at  the  Centennial  Celebration  of  the  Settle- 
ment of  the  Town  of  Ipswich,  Mass.,  August  16, 1834,  40 

The  Age  of  the  Pilgrims  the  Heroic  Period  of  our 
History.  An  Address  delivered  in  New  York  before 
the  New  England  Association,  December,  1843  ...  74 

The  Power  of  a State  developed  by  Mental  Cul- 
ture. A Lecture  delivered  before  the  Mercantile 
Library  Association,  November  18,  1844  106 

The  Position  and  Functions  of  the  American  Bar, 

AS  AN  Element  of  Conservatism  in  the  State. 

An  Address  delivered  before  the  Law  School  in  Cam- 
bridge, July  3,  1845  133 

The  Eloquence  of  Revolutionary  Periods.  A Lec- 
ture delivered  before  the  Mechanic  Apprentices’  Li- 
brary Association,  February  19,  1857  ......  167 

Address  delivered  in  South  Danvers,  at  the  Dedi- 
cation OF  THE  Peabody  Institute,  September  29, 

1854  202 

Remarks  before  the  Circuit  Court  on  the  Death 
OF  Mr.  Webster 222 

5362'72 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


A Discourse  commemorative  of  Daniel  'Webster. 
Delivered  before  the  Faculty,  Students,  and  Alumni  of 
Dartmouth  College,  July  27,  1853  

Speech  before  the  Young  Men’s  Whig  Club  of 
Boston,  on  the  Annexation  of  Texas.  Delivered 
in  the  Tremont  Temple,  August  19,  1844  

Speech  on  the  Judicial  Tenure.  Delivered  in  the 
Massachusetts  State  Convention,  July  14,  1853  . . . 

Speech  delivered  at  the  Constitutional  Meeting 
IN  Faneuil  Hall,  November  26,  1850  

Speech  delivered  in  Faneuil  Hall,  October  31, 1855, 

Speech  “ on  the  Political  Topics  now  prominent 
before  the  Country.”  Delivered  at  Lowell,  Mass., 
October  28,  1856  

American  Nationality.  An  Oration  delivered  in  Bos- 
ton on  the  Eighty-second  Anniversary  of  American 
Independence,  July  5,  1858  

Speech  on  the  Birthday  of  Daniel  Webster,  Janu- 
ary 18,  1859  


PAGE 

241 

334 

357 

396 

419 

440 

480 


517 


ADDRESSES  AND  ORATIONS. 


THE  EMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING  NEW-ENG- 
LAND  HISTORY  BY  A SERIES  OF  ROMANCES 
LIKE  THE  WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 


DELrvrEEED  AT  SALEM,  1833. 


The  history  of  the  United  States,  from  the  planting 
of  the  several  Colonies  out  of  which  they  have 
sprung,  to  the  end  of  the  war  of  the  Revolution, 
is  now  as  amply  written,  as  accessible,  and  as  authen- 
tic, as  any  other  portion  of  the  history  of  the  world, 
and  incomparably  more  so  than  an  equal  portion  of 
the  history  of  the  origin  and  first  ages  of  any  other 
nation  that  ever  existed.  But  there  is  one  thing 
more  which  every  lover  of  his  country,  and  every 
lover  of  literature,  would  wish  done  for  our  early  his- 
tory. He  would  wish  to  see  such  a genius  as  Walter 
Scott,  (exoriatur  aliquis^')  or  rather  a thousand  such 
as  he,  undertake  in  earnest  to  illustrate  that  early 
history,  by  a series  of  romantic  compositions,  “ in 
prose  or  rhyme,”  like  the  Waverley  Novels,  the  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel,  and  the  Lady  of  the  Lake, — 
the  scenes  of  which  should  be  laid  in  North  America, 
somewhere  in  the  time  before  the  Revolution,  and 
tlie  incidents  and  characters  of  which  should  be 


1 


2 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


selected  from  the  records  and  traditions  of  that,  our 
heroic  age.  He  would  wish  at  length  to  hear  such  a 
genius  mingling  the  tones  of  a ravishing  national 
minstrelsy  with  the  grave  narrative,  instructive  re- 
flections, and  chastened  feelings  of  Marshall,  Pitkin, 
Holmes,  and  Ramsay.  He  would  wish  to  see  him 
giving  to  the  natural  scenery  of  the  New  World,  and 
to  the  celebrated  personages  and  grand  .ncidents  of 
its  earlier  annals,  the  same  kind  and  degree  of  inter- 
est which  Scott  has  given  to  the  Highlands,  to  the 
Reformation,  the  Crusades,  to  Richard  the  Lion- 
hearted,  and  to  Louis  XI.  He  would  wish  to  see  him 
clear  away  the  obscurity  which  two  centuries  have 
been  collecting  over  it,  and  unroll  a vast,  comprehen- 
sive, and  vivid  panorama  of  our  old  New-England 
lifetimes,  from  its  sublimest  moments  to  its  minutest 
manners.  He  would  wish  to  see  him  begin  with  the 
landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  and  pass  down  to  the  war  of 
Independence,  from  one  epoch  and  one  generation  to 
another,  like  Old  Mortality  among  the  graves  of  the 
unforgotten  faithful,  wiping  the  dust  from  the  urns 
of  our  fathers,  — gathering  up  whatever  of  illus- 
trious achievement,  of  heroic  suffering,  of  unwaver- 
ing faith,  their  history  commemorates,  and  weaving  it 
all  into  an  immortal  and  noble  national  literature,  — 
pouring  over  the  whole  time,  its  incidents,  its  actors, 
its  customs,  its  opinions,  its  moods  of  feeling,  the 
brilliant  illustration,  the  unfading  glories,  which  the 
fictions  of  genius  alone  can  give  to  the  realities  of 
life. 

For  onr  lawyers,  politicians,  and  for  most  purposes 
of  mere  utility,  business,  and  intellect,  our  history 
now  perhaps  unfolds  a sufficiently  “ ample  page.” 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


3 


But,  I confess,  I should  love  to  see  it  assume  a form  in 
which  it  should  speak  directly  to  the  heart  and  affec- 
tions and  imagination  of  the  whole  people.  I should 
love  to  see  by  the  side  of  these  formidable  records  of 
dates,  and  catalogues  of  British  Governors,  and  Provin 
cial  acts  of  Assembly,  — these  registers  of  the  settle- 
ment of  towns,  and  the  planting  of  churches,  and 
convocation  of  synods,  and  drawing  up  of  platforms,  — 
by  the  side  of  these  austere  and  simply  severe  narratives 
of  Indian  wars,  English  usurpations,  French  intrigues. 
Colonial  risings,  and  American  independence ; — I 
should  love  to  see  by  the  side  of  these  great  and 
good  books  about  a thousand  neat  duodecimos  of  the 
size  of  Ivanhoe,  Kenilworth,  and  Marmion,  all  full  of 
pictures  of  our  natural  beauty  and  grandeur,  — the  still 
richer  pictures  of  our  society  and  manners,  — the  lights 
and  shadows  of  our  life,  — full  of  touching  incidents, 
generous  sentiments,  just  thoughts,  beaming  images, 
such  as  are  scattered  over  every  thing  which  Scott  has 
written,  as  thick  as  stars  on  the  brow  of  night,  and  give 
to  everything  he  has  written  that  imperishable,  strange 
charm,  which  will  be  on  it  and  embalm  it  for  ever. 

Perhaps  it  is  worthy  even  of  your  consideration, 
whether  this  is  not  a judicious  and  reasonable  wish. 
I propose,  therefore,  as  the  subject  of  a few  remarks, 
this  question : — Is  it  not  desirable  that  a series  of 
compositions  of  the  same  general  character  with  the 
novels  and  poems  of  Scott,  and  of  equal  ability, 
should  be  written  in  illustration  of  the  history  of  the 
North- American  United  States  prior  to  the  peace  of 
1783  ? 

I venture  to  maintain  firsts  that  such  works  as  these 
would  possess  a very  high  historical  value.  They 


4 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


would  be  valuable  for  tlie  light  they  would  shed  upon 
the  first  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  of  our  Colonial 
existence.  They  would  be  valuable  as  helps  to  his- 
tory, as  contributions  to  history,  as  real  and  authori- 
tative documents  of  history.  They  would  be  valuable 
for  the  same  reason  that  the  other,  more  formal  and 
graver  records  of  our  history  are  so,  if  not  quite  in 
the  same  degree. 

To  make  this  out,  it  may  be  necessary  to  pause  a 
moment  and  analyze  these  celebrated  writings,  and 
inquire  what  they  contain,  and  how  they  are  made 
up.  It  is  so  easy  to  read  Scott’s  Novels  that  we  are 
apt  to  forget  with  how  much  labor  he  prepared  himself 
to  ivrite  them.  We  are  imposed  on,  startled  perhaps, 
by  the  words  novel  and  poem.  We  forget  that  any 
one  of  them  is  not  merely  a brilliant  and  delightful 
romance,  but  a deep,  well-considered,  and  instructive 
essay  on  the  manners,  customs,  and  political  condi- 
tion of  England  or  Scotland,  at  the  particular  period 
to  which  it  refers.  Such  is  the  remark  of  a foreign 
critic  of  consummate  taste  and  learning,  and  it  is 
certainly  just.  Let  us  reverently  attempt  to  unfold 
the  process  — to  indicate  the  course  of  research  and 
reflection  — by  which  they  are  perfected,  and  thus  to 
detect  the  secret  not  so  much  of  their  extraordinary 
power  and  popularity  as  of  their  historical  value. 

He  selects  then,  I suppose,  (I  write  of  him  as 
living ; for  though  dead,  he  still  speaks  to  the  whole 
reading  population  of  the  world,)  first,  the  country 
in  which  he  will  lay  the  scenes  of  his  action, — 
Scotland,  perhaps,  or  merry  England,  or  the  beauti- 
ful France.  He  marks  off  the  portions  of  that 
country  within  which  the  leading  incidents  shall  be 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTOEY. 


5 


transacted,  as  a conjurer  draws  the  charmed  circle 
with  his  wand  on  the  floor  of  the  Cave  of  Magic. 
Then  he  studies  the  topography  of  the  region  — its 
scenery,  its  giant  mountains,  its  lakes,  glens,  forests, 
falls  of  water  — as  minutely  as  Malt^  Brun  or  Hum- 
boldt ; but  choosing  out  with  a poet’s  eye,  and 
retaining  with  a poet’s  recollection,  the  grand,  pict- 
uresque, and  graceful  points  of  the  whole  tran- 
scendent landscape.  Then  he  goes  on  to  collect  and 
treasure  up  the  artiflcial,  civil,  historical  features  of 
the  country.  He  explores  its  antiquities,  becomes 
minutely  familiar  with  every  city  and  castle  and 
cathedral  which  still  stands,  and  with  the  grander 
ruins  of  all  which  have  fallen,  — familiar  with  every 
relic  and  trace  of  man  and  art,  — down  even  to  the 
broken  cistern  which  the  Catholic  charity  of  a former 
age  had  hewn  out  by  the  way-side  for  the  pilgrim  to 
drink  in.  He  gathers  up  all  the  traditions  and  le- 
gendary history  of  the  place,  — every  story  of  “hope- 
less love,  or  glory  won,”  — with  the  time,  the  spot, 
the  circumstances,  as  particularly  and  as  fondly  as  if 
he  had  lived  there  a thousand  years.  He  selects  the 
age  to  which  his  narrative  shall  refer,  — perhaps  that 
of  Richard  or  Elizabeth,  or  Charles  H.,  or  of  the 
rebellion  of  1745 ; and  forthwith  engages  in  a deep 
and  discursive  study  of  its  authentic  history  and 
biography, — its  domestic  and  foreign  politics;  the 
state  of  parties ; the  character  and  singularities  of  the 
reigning  king  and  his  court,  and  of  the  prominent  per- 
sonages of  the  day  ; — its  religious  condition,  the  wars, 
revolts,  revolutions,  and  great  popular  movements  ; all 
the  predominant  objects  of  interest  and  excitement,  and 
all  which  made  up  the  public  and  out-of-door  life  and 


6 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


history  of  that  particular  generation.  He  goes  deeper 
still; — the  state  of  society;  the  manners,  customs, 
and  employments  of  the  people;  their  dress,  their 
arms,  and  armor;  their  amusements;  their  entire 
indoor  and  domestic  life ; the  rank  and  accomplish- 
ments of  the  sexes  respectively ; their  relations  to 
each  other ; the  extent  of  their  popular  and  higher 
education ; their  opinions,  superstitions,  morals,  ju- 
risprudence, and  police,  — all  these  he  investigates  as 
earnestly  as  if  he  were  nothing  but  an  antiquarian, 
but  with  the  liberal,  enlightened,  and  tolerant  curi- 
osity of  a scholar,  philosopher,  philanthropist,  who 
holds  that  man  is  not  only  the  most  proper  but  most 
delightful  study  of  man.  Thus  thoroughly  fur- 
nished, he  chooses  an  affecting  incident,  real  or  im- 
aginary, for  his  ground-work,  and  rears  upon  it  a 
composition,  — which  the  mere  novel  reader  will 
admire  for  its  absorbing  narrative  and  catastrophe ; 
the  critic  for  its  elegant  style,  dazzling  poetry,  and 
elaborate  art;  the  student  of  human  nature  for  its 
keen  and  shrewd  views  of  man  — “ for  each  change 
of  many-colored  life  he  draws ; ” the  student  of  his- 
tory for  its  penetrating  development  and  its  splendid, 
exact,  and  comprehensive  illustration  of  the  spirit  of 
one  of  the  marked  ages  of  the  world.  And  this  is  a 
Waverley  Novel! 

Perhaps  I am  now  prepared  to  restate  and  main- 
tain the  general  position  which  I have  taken,  — that 
a series  of  North- American  or  New-England  Waver- 
ley Novels  would  be  eminently  valuable  auxiliaries 
to  the  authoritative  written  history  of  New  England 
and  of  North  America. 

In  the  first  place,  they  would  embody,  and  thus 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTOKY. 


7 


would  fix  deep  in  tlie  general  mind  and  memory  of 
the  whole  people,  a vast  amount  of  positive  informa- 
tion quite  as  authentic  and  valuable  and  curious  as 
that  which  makes  up  the  matter  of  professed  history, 
but  which  the  mere  historian  does  not  and  cannot 
furnish.  They  would  thus  be  not  substitutes  for 
history,  but  supplements  to  it.  Let  us  dwell  upon 
this  consideration  for  a moment.  It  is  wonderful, 
when  you  think  closely  on  it,  how  little  of  all  which 
w'e  should  love  to  know,  and  ought  to  know,  about  a 
former  period  and  generation,  a really  standard  his- 
tory tells  us.  From  the  very  nature  of  that  kind  of 
composition  it  must  be  so.  Its  appropriate  and  ex- 
clusive topics  are  a few  prominent,  engrossing,  and 
show}"  incidents,  — wars,  — conquests,  — revolutions, 
— changes  of  dynasties, — battles  and  sieges, — the 
exterior  and  palpable  manifestations  of  the  workings 
of  the  stormy  and  occasional  passions  of  men  mov- 
ing in  large  masses  on  the  high  places  of  the  world. 
These  topics  it  treats  instructively  and  eloquently. 
But  what  an  inadequate  conception  does  such  a book 
give  you  of  the  time,  the  country,  and  the  people  to 
which  it  relates ! What  a meagre,  cold,  and  unen- 
gaging  I outline  does  it  trace  ; and  how  utterly  de- 
ficient in  minute,  precise,  and  circumstantial,  and 
satisfactory  information ! How  little  does  it  tell 
you  of  the  condition  and  character  of  the  great  body 
of  the  people,  — their  occupations,  — their  arts  and 
customs,  — their  joys  and  sorrows  ! — how  little  of 
the  origin,  state,  and  progress  of  opinions,  and  of 
the  spirit  of  the  age!  — how  misty,  indistinct,  and 
tantalizing  are  the  glimpses  you  gain  of  that  old, 
fair,  wonderful  creation  which  you  long  to  explore ! 


8 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


It  is  like  a vast  landscape  painting  in  which  nothing 
is  represented  but  the  cloven  summit  and  grand 
sweep  of  the  mountain,  — a portion  of  the  sounding 
shore  of  the  illimitable  sea,  — the  dim  distant  course 
of  a valley,  traversed  by  the  Father  of  Rivers  two 
thousand  miles  in  length, — and  which  has  no  place 
for  the  enclosed  corn-field,  — the  flocks  upon  a thou- 
sand hills,  — the  cheerful  country-seat,  — the  village 
spires,  — the  church-yard,  — the  vintage,  — the  har- 
vest-home,— the  dances  of  peasants,  — and  the  Cot- 
ter’s Saturday  night ! 

Now,  the  use,  one  use,  of  such  romances  as  Scott’s, 
is  to  supply  these  deficiencies,  of  history.  Their 
leading  object,  perhaps,  may  be  to  tell  an  interesting 
story  with  some  embellishments  of  poetry  and  elo- 
quence and  fine  writing  and  mighty  dialogue.  But 
the  plan  on  which  they  are  composed  requires  that 
the)'  should  interweave  into  their  main  design  a 
near,  distinct  and  accurate,  but  magnified  and  orna- 
mental view  of  the  times,  people,  and  country  to 
which  that  story  goes  back.  They  are,  as  it  were, 
telescope,  microscope,  and  kaleidoscope  all  in  one,  if 
the  laws  of  optics  permit  such  an  illustration.  They 
give  you  the  natural  scenery  of  that  country  in  a 
succession  of  landscapes  fresh  and  splendid  as  any  in 
the  whole  compass  of  literature,  yet  as  topographi- 
cally accurate  as  you  will  find  in  any  geography  or 
book  of  travels.  They  cause  a crowded  but  exact 
and  express  image  of  the  age  and  society  of  which 
they  treat  to  pass  before  you  as  you  see  Moscow  or 
Jerusalem  or  Mexico  in  a showman’s  box.  They 
introduce  genuine  specimens,  — real  living  men  and 
women  of  every  class  and  calling  in  society,  as  it 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTOEY. 


9 


■was  then  constituted,  and  make  them  talk  and  act 
in  character.  You  see  their  dress,  their  armor,  and 
their  weapons  of  war.  You  sit  at  their  tables,  — 
you  sleep  under  their  roof-tree,  — you  fish,  hunt,  and 
fowl  with  them.  Y^ou  follow  them  to  their  employ- 
ments in  field,  forest,  and  workshop,  — you  travel 
their  roads,  — cross  their  rivers,  — worship  with  them 
at  church,  — pledge  them  at  the  feast,  and  hear  their 
war-cry  in  battle,  and  the  coronach  which  announces 
and  laments  their  fall.  Time  and  space  are  thus  an- 
nihilated by  the  power  of  genius.  Instead  of  read- 
ing about  a past  age,  you  live  in  it.  Instead  of 
looking  through  a glass  darkly  at  vast  bodies  in  the 
distance,  — at  the  separate,  solitary  glories  of  a sky 
beyond  your  reach,  — wings  as  of  the  morning  are 
given  you ; you  ascend  to  that  sky  and  gaze  on  their 
unveiled  present  glories.  It  is  as  if  you  were  placed 
in  the  streets  of  a city  buried  1800  years  ago  by  the 
lava  of  a volcano,  and  saw  it  suddenly ' and  com- 
pletely disinterred,  and  its  whole,  various  population 
raised  in  a moment  to  life,  — in  the  same  attitudes, 
clothed  upon  with  the  same  bodies,  wearing  the 
same  dresses,  engaged  in  the  same  occupations,  and 
warmed  by  the  same  passions,  in  which  they  per- 
ished ! It  would  carry  me  too  far  to  illustrate  these 
thoughts  by  minute  references  to  all  Scott’s  poetry 
and  romances,  or  to  attempt  to  assort  the  particulars 
and  sum  up  the  aggregate  of  the  real  historical  in- 
formation for  which  we  are  indebted  to  that  poetry 
and  those  romances.  Go  back,  however,  at  random, 
to  the  age  of  Richard  of  the  Lion  Heart,  — the  close 
of  the  twelfth  century,  the  era  of  chivalry,  the  Cru- 
sades, and  almost  of  Magna  Charta.  Read  of  it  first 


10 


BIPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


ill  the  acute  and  elegant  Hume  and  the  laborious 
Lingard;  and  then  open  the  splendid  romance  of 
Ivanhoe  and  see,  not  which  most  interests  you,  but 
which  relates  most  vividly,  most  minutely,  and  most 
completely,  the  authentic  history  of  the  England  of 
that  troubled  yet  glorious  daju  The  character  and 
peculiarities  of  the  chivalrous  Richard,  — his  physi- 
cal strength,  — his  old  English  good-nature  and  com- 
panionable and  convivial  qualities  and  practices, — 
his  romantic  love  of  adventure  and  peril,  and  of  the 
rapture  of  battle  (certaminis  g audio)  relieved  and 
softened  by  his  taste  for  troubadour  music  and  song, 
— the  cold,  jealous,  timid  temper  of  his  brother  John, 
at  once  an  ambitious  usurper  and  an  unprincipled 
voluptuary,  — the  intriguing  politics  of  his  court,  — 
his  agency  in  procuring  Richard’s  long  imprisonment 
in  Germany,  and  his  sudden  start  of  terror  on  hear- 
ing of  his  escape  and  return  to  England  to  claim  his 
throne,  — the  separation  of  the  English  people  of 
that  era  into  two  great  distinct  and  strongly  marked 
races,  the  Saxon  and  the  Norman,  — the  characteris- 
tic traits  and  employments  of  each,  — the  relations 
they  sustained  to  each  other,  — their  mutual  fear, 
hatred,  and  suspicion,  — the  merry  lives  of  Robin 
Hood  and  his  archers  in  the  forest,  — the  pride  and 
licentiousness  of  the  bold  Norman  barons,  and  the 
barbaric  magnificence  of  their  castles,  equipage,  and 
personal  decoration,  — the  contrasted  poverty  and 
dignified  sorrow  of  the  fallen  Saxon  chiefs,  — the 
institutions  and  rites  of  a still  gorgeous  but  waning 
chivalry,  — the  skilful  organization,  subtle  policy, 
and  imposing  exterior  of  the  order  of  the  Templars, 
— • the  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  the  gilded 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTOKY. 


1] 


and  sounding  era  of  the  Crusades,  — these  topics, 
this  information,  — not  the  well-feigned  fortunes  of 
Isaac,  Rebecca,  Athelstane,  Wilfred,  — give  to  the 
surpassing  poetry  and  painting  of  this  unequalled 
romance  a permanent  and  recognized  historical  value, 
and  entitle  it  to  a place  upon  the  same  shelf  with 
the  more  exclusive  and  pretending  teachers  of  Eng- 
lish history. 

Let  me  remind  you  that  Scott  is  not  the  only 
writer  of  romance  who  has  made  his  fiction  the  vehi- 
cle of  authentic  and  useful  information  concerning 
the  past,  and  thus  earned  the  praise  of  a great  his- 
torian. Let  me  remind  you  of  another  instance,  the 
most  splendid  in  literature.  The  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
of  Homer,  — what  are  they  but  great  Waverley 
Novels  ! And  yet  what  were  our  knowledge  of  the 
first  400  years  of  Grecian  history  without  them ! 
Herodotus,  the  father  of  history,  devotes  about 
twenty-five  duodecimo  lines  to  the  subject  of  the 
Trojan  Wanderer ; and  without  meaning  any  disre- 
spect to  so  revered  a name,  — so  truly  valuable  a 
writer,  — I must  say  that  this  part  of  his  narrative 
is  just  about  as  interesting  and  instructive  as  an  ac- 
count in  a Castiue  newspaper,  that  in  a late,  dark 
night  a schooner  from  Eastport  got  upon  Mt.  Desert 
Rock,  partly  bilged,  but  that  no  lives  were  lost,  and 
there  was  no  insurance.  Unroll  now,  by  the  side  of 
this,  the  magnificent  cartoons  on  which  Homer  has 
painted  the  heroic  age  of  the  bright  clime  of  Battle 
and  of  Song ! Abstracting  your  attention  for  a mo- 
ment from  the  beauty  and  grandeur  and  consummate 
art  of  these  compositions,  — just  study  them  for  the 
information  they  embody.  We  all  know  that  critics 


12 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


have  deduced  the  rules  of  epic  poetry  from  these 
inspired  models ; and  Horace  tells  us  that  they  are 
better  teachers  of  morality  than  the  Stoic  doctors,  — 
Chrysippus  and  Crates.  But  what  else  may  you 
learn  from  them  ? The  ancient  geography  of  Greece, 
— the  number,  names,  localities,  and  real  or  legen- 
dary history  of  its  tribes,  — the  condition  of  its  arts, 
trades,  agriculture,  navigation,  and  civil  policy,  — its 
military  and  maritime  resources,  — its  manners  and 
customs,  — its  religious  opinions  and  observances, 
and  mythology  and  festivals  ; — this  is  the  informa- 
tion for  which  we  are  indebted  to  an  old  wandering, 
blind  harper, — just  such  another  as  he  who  sang  the 
Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  to  the  ladies  of  Newark 
Castle.  This  is  the  authority  on  which  Potter  has 
compiled  his  Antiquities,  and  Mitford  the  first  three 
chapters  of  his  History.  And  surely,  to  use  the 
words  of  an  elegant  writer,  surely  “ such  an  apoca- 
lypse of  life”  — its  energetic  passions,  its  proud 
desires,  its  quiet  enjoyments,  its  sincere  affections, 
its  wasting  griefs,  its  towering  course  and  mournful 
end  — “ was  never  communicated  by  another  human 
imagination.” 

It  is  time  now  to  turn  to  our  early  history,  and 
consider  more  directly  in  what  way  and  to  what 
extent  our  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  and  Ivanhoe  and  Ken- 
ilworth, when  they  come  to  be  written,  will  help  to 
illustrate  and  to  complete  and  to  give  attraction  to 
that  history.  Select  then,  for  this  purpose,  almost 
at  random,  any  memorable  event  or  strongly  marked 
period  in  our  annals.  King  Philip’s  War  is  as  good 
an  illustration  as  at  this  moment  occurs  to  me.  What 
do  our  historians  tell  us  of  that  war’  and  of  New 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


13 


England  during  that  war  ? You  will  answer  sub- 
stantially this : It  was  a war  excited  by  Philip,  — a 
bold,  crafty,  and  perfidious  Indian  chief  dwelling  at 
Bristol,  in  Rhode  Island,  — for  the  purpose  of  extir- 
pating or  expelling  the  English  colonists  of  Massa- 
chusetts, Plymouth,  Connecticut,  and  New  Haven. 
It  began  in  1675  by  an  attack  on  the  people  of 
Swanzey,  as  they  were  returning  on  Sunday  from 
meeting.  It  ended  in  August,  1676,  at  Mount  Hope 
by  the  death  of  Philip,  and  the  annihilation  of  his 
tribe.  In  the  course  of  these  two  years  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  drawing  into  his  designs  perhaps  fifteen  or 
twenty  communities  of  Indians,  and  had  at  one  time 
and  another,  perhaps,  eight  or  ten  thousand  men  in 
arms. 

The  scenes  of  the  war  shifted  successively  from' 
Narraganset  Bay  to  the  northern  line  of  Massachusetts 
in  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut  River.  But  there 
was  safety  nowhere ; there  was  scarcely  a family  of 
which  a husband,  a son,  a brother,  had  not  fallen. 
The  land  was  filled  with  mourning.  Six  hundred 
dwelling-houses  were  burned  with  fire.  Six  hun- 
dred armed  young  men  and  middle-aged  fell  in 
battle ; as  many  others,  including  women  and  chil- 
dren, were  carried  away  into  that  captivity  so  full 
of  horrors  to  a New-England  imagination  ; the  cul- 
ture of  the  earth  was  interrupted ; the  prayers,  labors, 
and  sufferings  of  half  a century  were  nearly  for  ever 
frustrated. 

Such  is  about  the  whole  of  what  history  records, 
or  rather  of  what  the  great  body  of  our  well-educated 
readers  know,  of  the  New  England  of  1675,  and  of 
the  severest  and  most  interesting  crisis  through 


14 


IMPORTANCE  OE  ILLUSTRATING 


which,  in  any  epoch,  the  colony  was  called  to  pass. 
Now,  I say,  commit  this  subject — King  Philip’s  War 

— to  Walter  Scott,  the  poet,  or  the  novelist,  and, 
you  would  see  it  wrought  up  and  expanded  into  a 
series  of  pictures  of  the  NeAV  England  of  that  era, 

— so  full,  so  vivid,  so  true,  so  instructive,  so  moving, 
that  they  would  grave  themselves  upon  the  memory, 
and  dwell  in  the  hearts  of  our  whole  people  for  ever. 
How  he  would  do  this,  — precisely  what  kinds  of 
novels  and  poems  he  would  write, — 

“ What  drugs,  what  charms, 

What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic” 

he  would  deal  in  to  effect  this  pui-pose,  it  would  be 
presumptuous  in  me  to  venture  fully  to  explain. 
Some  imperfect  and  modest  conjectures  upon  this 
point,  however,  I hope  you  will  excuse. 

In  the  first  place,  he  would  collect  and  display  a 
great  many  particulars  of  positive  information  con- 
cerning these  old  times,  either  not  contained  at  all 
in  our  popular  histories,  or  not  in  a form  to  fix  the 
attention  of  the  general  reader.  He  would  spread 
out  before  you  the  external  aspects  and  scenery  of 
that  New  England,  and  contrast  them  with  those 
wdiich  our  eyes  are  permitted  to  see,  but  which  our 
fathers  died  without  beholding.  And  what  a con- 
trast ! The  grand  natural  outline  and  features  of 
the  country  were  indeed  the  same  then  as  now,  and 
are  so  yesterday,  to-day,  and  always.  The  same 
waves  dashed  high  upon  the  same  “ stern  and  rock- 
hound  coast ; ” the  same  rivers  poured  their  sweet 
and  cheerful  tides  into  the  same  broad  bay ; the 
same  ascending  succession  of  geological  formations, 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


15 


— the  narrow,  sandy  belt  of  sea-shore  and  marsh 
and  river  intervals, — the  wider  level  of  upland, — 
the  green  or  rocky  hill, — the  mountain  baring  its 
gray  summit  to  the  skies,  — met  the  eye  then  as 
now ; the  same  east  wind  chilled  the  lingering 
spring ; the  same  fleecy  clouds,  bland  south-west, 
yellow  and  crimson  leaf,  and  insidious  disease,  waited 
upon  the  coming  in  of  autumn.  But  how  was  it  in 
tliat  day  with  those  more  characteristic,  changeful, 
and  interesting  aspects  which  man  gives  to  a country  ? 
These  ripened  fruits  of  two  hundred  years  of  labor 
and  liberty  ; these  populous  towns  ; this  refined  and 
affluent  society ; these  gardens,  orchards,  and  corn- 
fields; these  manufactories  and  merchant-shij)s, — 
where  were  they  then  ? The  whole  colonial  popu- 
lation of  New  England,  including  Massachusetts, 
Plymouth,  Connecticut,  New  Haven,  Maine,  New 
Hampshire,  at  the  breaking  out  of  that  war,  has  been 
variously  estimated  at  from  40,000  to  120,000.  I 
suppose  that  80,000  may  be  a fair  average  of  these 
estimates,  — a little  less  than  the  present  population 
of  the  single  county  of  Essex.  They  were  planted 
along  the  coast  from  the  mouth  of  the  Kennebec  to 
New  Haven,  upon  a strip  of  country  of  a medium 
width,  inwards  from  the  sea,  of  forty  or  fifty  miles, 

— a great  deal  of  which,  however,  was  still  wholly 
unreclaimed  to  cultivation,  and  much  of  it  still  oc- 
cupied by  its  original  and  native  owners.  This  belt 
of  sea-coast  — for  it  was  no  more  than  that  — was 
the  New  England  of  1675.  Within  this  belt,  and  up 
the  interval  land  of  some  of  the  rivers  — the  Merri- 
mack, the  Charles,  the  Connecticut  — which  passed 
down  through  it  to  the  sea,  a few  settlements  had 


16 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


been  thrown  forward  ; but,  as  a general  fact,  the 
whole  vast  interior  to  the  line  of  New  York,  Ver- 
mont, and  Lower  Canada,  including  in  Massachusetts 
a part  of  the  counties  of  Essex,  Middlesex,  W orcester. 
Old  Hampshire,  Berkshire,  was  a primeval  wilder- 
ness, beneath  whose  ancient  shadow  a score  of  Indian 
tribes  maintained  their  fires  of  war  and  council,  and 
observed  the  rites  of  that  bloody  and  horrible  Pagan- 
ism which  formed  their  only  religion. 

On  this  narrow  border  were  stretched  along  the 
low  wooden  houses  with  their  wooden  ehimneys ; 
the  patches  of  Indian  corn  crossed  and  enclosed  by 
the  standing  forest ; the  smooth-shaven  meadow  and 
salt  marsh  ; the  rocky  pasture  of  horses,  sheep,  and 
neat  cattle  ; the  fish-flakes,  lumber-yards,  the  fishing- 
boats  and  coasting  shalloj^s  ; West  India  and  Wine 
Islands  merchant-ships ; the  meeting-houses,  wind- 
mills, and  small  stockade  forts,  — which  made  up 
the  human,  artificial,  and  visible  exterior  of  the  New 
England  of  that  era.  Altogether  the  whole  scene, 
in  its  natural  and  in  its  cultivated  elements,  was  in 
exact  keeping  with  the  condition  and  character  and 
prospects  of  that  generation  of  our  ancestors.  It  was 
the  dwelling  place  of  the  Pilgrims,  and  of  the  chil- 
dren of  the  Pilgrims.  There  lay  — covered  over  as 
it  were,  partially  sheltered,  yet  not  wholly  out  of 
danger,  like  the  sowing  of  a winter  grain  — the 
germs  of  this  day’s  exceeding  glory,  beauty,  and 
strength.  There  rose,  plain,  massive,  and  deep-set, 
the  basement  stories  of  our  religious,  civil,  and  lit- 
erary institutions,  beaten  against  and  raged  around 
by  many  a tempest  and  many  a' flood,  — yet  not  fall- 
ing, for  their  foundation  was  a rock.  Fifty  years  of 


jST:VV  ENGLAND  HISTOEY. 


17 


contimial  emigration  from  England,  and  of  general 
peace  and  general  health,  had  swelled  the  handfal 
of  men  who  came  passengers  in  The  Mayflower  to 
Plymouth,  and  in  The  Abigail  to  Salem,  and  in  The 
Arbella  to  Boston,  into  an  infant  people.  Inde- 
pendence of  the  mother  country  had  hardly  yet  en- 
tered the  waking  or  sleeping  dreams  of  any  man  ; 
but,  as  against  all  the  world  besides,  they  had  begun 
to  utter  the  language,  put  on  the  habits,  and  assume 
the  port,  of  a nascent  and  asserted  sovereignty  and 
national  existence.  Some  portion  of  the  great  work 
which  they  were  sent  hither  to  do  they  had  already 
done.  They  had  constructed  a republican,  represen- 
tative government.  They  had  made  provision  for 
the  mental  and  moral  culture  of  the  rising  nation. 
Something  of  the  growth  of  a half-century  of  indus- 
try, — “ immature  buds,  blossoms  fallen  from  the 
tree,  and  green  fruit,” — were  beginning  to  gladden 
the  natural  and  the  moral  prospect.  Still  the  general 
aspect  of  the  scenery  of  that  day,  even  if  surveyed 
from  one  of  those  eminences  which  now  rise  in  so 
much  beauty  around  Boston,  would  have  seemed  to 
the  senses  and  imagination  of  a beholder  wild, 
austere,  and  uninviting.  The  dreams  of  some  of  the 
sanguine,  early  settlers  were  by  this  time  finished. 
It  had  been  discovered  by  this  time  that  our  soil 
contained  neither  gold  nor  silver,  and  that  although 
we  could  purchase  very  good  wine  at  Fayal  or 
Madeira,  with  the  proceeds  of  the  fish  we  sold  at 
Bilboa,  we  were  not  likely  to  quite  rival  Hungary, 
as  Master  Grave,  the  engineer,  in  1629,  thought  we 
should  in  the  domestic  article.  The  single  damask 
rose  grew  wild  by  the  walls,  as  Mr.  Higginson  says 

2 


18 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


it  did  in  his  time  ; but  all  felt  by  the  year  1675  that 
it  was,  on  the  whole,  a somewhat  ungenial  heaven 
beneath  which  their  lot  was  cast,  yielding  nothing 
to  luxury  and  nothing  to  idleness,  but  yet  holding 
out  to  faith,  to  patience,  and  labor,  freedom  and 
public  and  private  virtue,  the  promise  of  a latter  day 
far  off  of  glory,  honor,  and  enjoyment.  Every  thing 
around  you  spoke  audibly  to  the  senses  and  imagina- 
tion of  toil  and  privation,  of  wearisome  days  and 
sleepless  nights,  of  serious  aims,  grave  duties,  and 
hope  deferred  without  making  the  heart  sick.  You 
looked  upon  the  first  and  hardest  conflicts  of  civilized 
man  with  unreclaimed  nature  and  uncivilized  man. 
You  saw  all  around  you  the  blended  antagonist  mani- 
festations and  insignia  of  a divided  empire.  Indian 
wigwams  and  the  one  thousand  houses  of  Boston 
sent  up  their  smoke  into  the  same  sky.  Indian 
canoes  and  the  fishing  and  coasting  craft  and  mer- 
chantmen, loading  for  Spain  and  Africa  and  the 
West  Indies,  floated  upon  the  same  waters.  English 
grain  and  grasses  grew  among  the  blackened  stumps 
of  the  newly  fallen  forest.  Men  went  armed  to  their 
fields,  to  meeting,  and  to  bring  home  their  brides 
from  their  father’s  house  where  they  had  married 
them.  It  was  like  the  contest  of  Winter  and  Spring- 
described  by  Thomson,  or  like  that  of  the  good  and 
evil  principle  of  the  Oriental  superstitions ; and  it 
might  at  first  seem  doubtful  which  would  triumph. 
But  when  you  contemplated  the  prospect  a little 
more  closely, — when  you  saw  what  costly  and  dear 
pledges  the  Pilgrims  had  already  given  to  posterity 
and  the  new  world,  — when  you  saw  the  fixtures 
which  they  had  settled  into  and  incorporated  with 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


19 


its  soil,  the  brick  college  at  Cambridge,  and  the 
meeting-houses  sending  up  their  spires  from  every 
clearing,  — when  you  surveyed  the  unostentatious 
but  permanent  and  vast  improvements  which  fifty 
years  had  traced  upon  the  face  of  that  stern  and 
wild  land,  and  garnered  up  in  its  bosom,  — when 
you  looked  steadfastly  into  the  countenances  of  those 
men,  and  read  there  that  expression  of  calm  resolve, 
high  hope,  and  fixed  faith,  — when  you  heard  their 
prayers  for  that  once  pleasant  England  as  for  a land 
they  no  longer  desired  to  see  ; for  the  new  world, 
now  not  merely  the  scene  of  their  duties  but  the 
home  of  their  heart’s  adoption,  — you  would  no 
longer  doubt  that,  though  the  next  half-century 
should  be,  as  it  proved,  a long,  bloody  warfare,  — 
though  the  mother  country  should  leave  them,  as 
she  did,  to  contend  single-handed  with  Indians, 
French,  and  an  unpropitious  soil  and  sky, — though 
acts  of  navigation  and  boards  of  trade  should  restrain 
their  enterprise  and  rob  it  of  its  rewards,  — that  their 
triumph  was  still  certain,  and  a later  generation  would 
partake  of  its  fruits  and  be  encompassed  about  by  its 
glory.  A thousand  instructive  particulars  would 
be  collected  by  such  an  antiquarian  as  the  author 
of  Old  IMortality,  serving  to  illustrate  the  employ- 
ments, customs,  and  character  of  this  portion  of  our 
ancestors,  and  embodied  in  such  a form  as  to  become 
permanently  a part  of  the  current  knowledge  of  an 
educated  people.  The  industry  of  New  England  in 
1675  had  taken  almost  all  the  great  leading  direc- 
tions in  which  it  afterwards  exerted  itself  with  such 
splendid  success.  There  were  then  nearly  five  hun- 
dred fishing  vessels,  large  and  small,  in  the  four 


20 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


colonies.  The  export  of  fish  to  the  north  of  Spain, 
to  Fayal  and  Madeira,  and  of  lumber,  pipe-staves, 
provisions,  naval  stores,  and  neat  cattle,  to  the  West 
Indies,  and  the  import  of  wines  and  West  India 
goods  employed  from  one  to  two  hundred  vessels 
more,  of  a larger  rate,  built  and  owned  in  New  Eng- 
land. The  principal  import  of  British  goods  was 
to  Boston,  whence  they  were  shipped  coastwise  to 
Maine,  Hartford,  and  New  Haven.  Linen,  woollen, 
and  cotton  cloth,  glass,  and  salt,  to  some  extent,  were 
manufactured  in  Massachusetts.  The  flax  was  all 
raised  here  ; the  wool  chiefly ; the  cotton  was  im- 
ported. The  equality  of  fortunes  was  remarkable 
even  for  that  age  of  simple  habits,  and  general  indus- 
try and  morality.  There  were  only  fifteen  or  twenty 
merchants  worth  five  hundred  pounds  each ; and 
there  were  no  beggars.  The  most  showy  mansion 
contained  no  more  than  twenty  rooms;  but  the 
meanest  cottage  had  at  least  two  stories,  — a remark- 
able improvement  since  1629,  when  the  house  of 
the  Lady  Moody,  a person  of  great  consideration  in 
Salem,  is  said  to  have  been  only  nine  feet  high,  with 
a wooden  chimney  in  the  centre.  Governor  Winthrop 
says  in  his  Journal,  that  he  spent  in  the  years  he 
was  governor  five  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  of 
which  two  hundred  pounds  — not  seven  hundred 
dollars  — would  have  maintained  him  in  a private 
condition.  There  were  no  musicians  by  trade  ; a 
dancing-school  was  attempted,  but  failed.  But  a 
fencing-school  in  Boston  succeeded  eminently;  we 
all  know  that  fencing,  without  foils  or  tuition-fees, 
was  the  daily  and  nightly  exercise  of  the  youth  and 
manhood  of  the  colonies  for  half  the  first  century  of 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTOEY. 


21 


their  existence.  It  is  strikingly  characteristic  of  our 
fathers  of  that  day  of  labor,  temperate  habits,  and 
austere  general  morality,  that  a synod  convened  in 
1679  to  inquire  what  crying  sin  of  practice  or  opinion 
had  brought  down  the  judgment  of  God  on  the  colo- 
nies ascribed  it  very  much  to  the  intemperate  and 
luxurious  habits  of  what  they  deemed  a backsliding 
and  downward  age.  Hubbard  reckons  among  the 
moral  causes  of  that  war  the  pride,  intemperance, 
and  worldly-mindedness  of  the  people  ; and  another 
writer  of  that  day  denounces  with  most  lachrymose 
eloquence  the  increasing  importations  of  wine,  threat- 
ening the  Ararat  of  the  Pilgrims  with  a new  kind  of 
deluge. 

This  last  writer  reminds  us  of  a story  wliich  John 
Wilkes,  I think,  tells  in  Boswell’s  Johnson,  that  he 
once  attended  a Sunday  meeting  in  the  interior  of 
Scotland  when  the  preacher  declaimed  most  furiously, 
for  an  hour,  against  luxury,  although,  said  Wilkes, 
there  were  not  three  pairs  of  shoes  in  the  whole 
congregation ! 

There  are  two  or  three  subjects,  among  a thousand 
others  of  a different  character,  connected  with  the 
history  of  New  England  in  that  era,  which  deserve, 
and  would  reward,  the  fullest  illustration  which 
learning  and  genius  and  philosophy  could  bestow. 
They  have  been  treated  copiously  and  ably ; but  I 
am  sure  that  whoso  creates  the  romantic  literature  of 
the  country  will  be  found  to  have  placed  them  in  new 
lights,  and  to  have  made  them  for  the  first  time  famil- 
iar, intelligible,  and  interesting  to  the  mass  of  the 
reading  community. 

Let  me  instance  as  one  of  these  the  old  Puritan 


22 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


character.  In  every  view  of  it,  it  was  an  extraordi- 
nary mental  and  moral  phenomenon.  The  countless 
influences  which  have  been  acting  on  man  ever  since 
his  creation,  — the  countless  variety  of  condition  and 
circumstances,  of  climate,  of  government,  of  religion, 
and  of  social  systems  in  which  he  has  lived,  never 
produced  such  a specimen  of  character  as  this  before, 
and  never  will  do  so  again.  It  was  developed,  dis- 
ciplined, and  perfected  for  a particular  day  and  a par- 
ticular duty.  When  that  day  was  ended  and  that 
duty  done,  it  was  dissolved  again  into  its  elements, 
and  disappeared  among  the  common  forms  of  human- 
ity, apart  from  which  it  had  acted  and  suffered, — 
above  which  it  had  towered,  yet  out  of  which  it  had 
been  by  a long  process  elaborated.  Tlie  human  in- 
fluences which  combined  to  form  the  Puritan  charac- 
ter from  the  general  mind  of  England,  — which  set 
this  sect  apart  from  all  the  rest  of  the  community, 
and  stamped  upon  it  a system  of  manners,  a style  of 
dress  and  salutation  and  phraseology,  a distinct,  entire 
scheme  of  opinions  upon  religion,  government,  mo- 
rality, and  human  life,  marking  it  off  from  the  crowds 
about  it,  as  the  fabled  waters  of  the  classical  fountain 
passed  underneath  the  sea,  unmingled,  unchanged  in 
taste  or  color,  — these  things  are  matters  of  popular 
history,  and  I need  not  enumerate  or  weigh  them. 
What  was  the  final  end  for  which  the  Puritans  were 
raised  up,  we  also  in  some  part  all  know.  All  things 
here  in  New  England  proclaim  it.  The  works  which 
they  did,  these  testify  of  them  and  of  the  objects  and 
reality  of  their  mission,  and  they  are  inscribed  upon 
all  the  sides  of  our  religious,  political,  and  literary 
ediflces,  legibly  and  imperishably. 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


But  wMle  we  appreciate  what  the  Puritans  have 
done,  and  recognize  the  divine  wisdom  and  purposes 
in  raising  them  up  to  do  it,  something  is  wanting  yet 
to  give  to  their  character  and  fortunes  a warm,  quick 
interest,  a charm  for  the  feelings  and  imagination,  an 
abiding-place  in  the  heart  and  memory  and  affections 
of  all  the  generations  of  the  people  to  whom  they 
bequeathed  these  representative  governments  and  this 
undefiled  religion.  It  is  time  that  literature  and  the 
arts  should  at  least  cooperate  with  history.  Themes 
more  inspiring  or  more  instructive  were  never  sung 
hyoid  or  modern  bards  in  hall  or  bower.  The  whole 
history  of  the  Puritans,  — of  that  portion  which 
remained  in  England  and  plucked  Charles  from  his 
throne  and  buried  crown  and  mitre  beneath  the  foun- 
dations of  the  Commonwealth,  and  of  that  other  not 
less  noble  portion  which  came  out  hither  from  Eng- 
land, and  founded  a freer,  fairer,  and  more  enduring 
Commonwealth  — all  the  leading  traits  of  their  re- 
ligious, intellectual,  and  active  character,  their  theo- 
logical doctrines,  their  superstitions,  their  notions  of 
the  divine  government  and  economy,  and  of  the  place 
they  filled  in  it,  — every  thing  about  them,  every  thing 
which  befell  them,  — was  out  of  the  ordinary  course 
of  life ; and  he  who  would  adequately  record  their 
fortunes,  display  their  peculiarities,  and  decide  upon 
their  pretensions,  must,  like  the  writer  of  the  Penta- 
teuch, put  in  requisition  alternately  music,  poetry, 
eloquence,  and  history,  and  speak  by  turns  to  the 
senses,  the  fancy,  and  the  reason  of  the  world. 

They  were  persecuted  for  embracing  a purer  Protes- 
tantism than  the  Episcopacy  of  England  in  the  age 
of  Elizabeth.  Instead  of  ceasing  to  be  Protestants, 


24 


IMrORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTKATING 


persecution  made  them  republicans,  also.  They  were 
nicknamed  Puritans  by  their  enemies ; then  after- 
ward they  became  a distinct,  solitary  caste,  — among, 
but  not  of,  the  people  of  England.  They  were 
flattered,  they  were  tempted,  they  were  shut  up  in 
prison,  they  were  baptized  with  the  Are  of  martyr- 
dom. Solicitation,  violence,  were  alike  unavailing, 
except  to  consolidate  their  energies,  perfect  their 
virtues,  and  mortify  their  human  affections,  — to  raise 
their  thoughts  from  the  kingdoms  and  kings  of  this 
world,  and  the  glory  of  them,  to  the  contemplation  of 
that  surpassing  glory  which  is  to  be  revealed.  Some 
of  them  at  length,  not  so  much  because  these  many 
years  of  persecution  had  wearied  or  disheartened 
them,  as  because  they  saw  in  it  an  intimation  of  the 
will  of  God,  sought  the  freedom  which  there  they 
found  not,  on  the  bleak  sea-shore  and  beneath  the 
dark  pine-forest  of  New  England.  History,  fiction, 
literature,  does  not  record  an  incident  of  such  moral 
sublimity  as  this.  Others,  like  ffiiueas,  have  fled 
from  the  city  of  their  fathers  after  the  victor  has 
entered  and  fired  it.  But  the  country  they  left  was 
peaceful,  cultivated,  tasteful,  merry  England.  The 
asylum  they  sought  was  upon  the  very  outside  of 
the  world.  Others  have  traversed  seas  as  wide,  for 
fame  or  gold.  Not  so  the  Puritans. 

“ Nor  lure  of  conquest’s  meteor  beam, 

Nor  dazzling  mines  of  fancy’s  dream, 

Nor  wild  adventure’s  love  to  roam. 

Brought  from  their  fathers’  ancient  home. 

O’er  the  wide  sea,  the  Pilgrim  host.” 

It  was  fit  that  the  founders  of  our  race  should  have 
been  such  men, — that  they  should  have  so  labored 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


25 


and  so  suffered, — that  their  tried  and  strenuous 
virtues  should  stand  out  in  such  prominence  and 
grandeur.  It  will  be  well  for  us  when  their  story 
shall  have  grown  “•familiar  as  a household  word,” 
when  it  shall  make  even  your  children’s  bosoms  gloAV 
and  their  eyes  glisten  in  the  ballad  and  nursery-tale, 
and  give  pathos  and  elevation  to  our  whole  higher 
national  minstrelsy. 

There  is  another  subject  connected  with  our  early 
history  eminently  adapted  to  the  nature  and  purposes 
of  romantic  literature,  and  worthy  to  be  illustraced 
by  such  a literature,  — that  is,  the  condition,  pros- 
pects, and  fate  of  the  New  England  tribes  of  Indians 
at  the  epoch  of  Philip’s  War.  It  has  sometimes  been 
remarked  as  a matter  of  reproach  to  a community, 
that  it  has  suffered  its  benefactors  to  perish  of  want, 
and  then  erected  statues  to  their  memory.  The 
crime  does  not  lie  in  erecting  the  statue,  but  in  hav- 
ing suffered  the  departed  good  and  great,  whom  it 
commemorates,  to  perish.  It  has  been  our  lot  in  the 
appointments  of  Providence  to  be,  innocently  or 
criminally,  instruments  in  sweeping  from  the  earth 
one  of  the  primitive  families  of  man.  We  build  our 
houses  upon  their  graves ; our  cattle  feed  upon  the 
hills  from  which  they  cast  their  last  look  upon  the 
land,  pleasant  to  them  as  it  is  now  pleasant  to  us,  in 
which  through  an  immemorial  antiquity  their  gener- 
ations had  been  dwelling.  The  least  we  can  do  for 
them,  for  science  and  letters,  is  to  preserve  their  his- 
tory. This  we  have  done.  We  have  explored  their 
antiquities,  studied  and  written  their  language  and 
deduced  its  grammar,  recorded  their  traditions,  traced 
their  wanderings,  and  embodied  in  one  form  or  an- 


26 


IMPOETANCE  OF  ILLUSTEATIFG 


other  their  customs,  their  employments,  their  super- 
stitions, and  their  religious  belief.  But  there  is  in 
this  connection  one  thing  which,  perhaps,  poetry  and 
romance  can  alone  do,  or  can  best  do.  It  is  to  go  back 
to  the  epoch  of  this  war,  for  example,  — paint  vividly 
and  affectingly  the  condition  of  the  tribes  which  then 
wandered  over,  rather  than  occupied,  the  boundless 
wilderness  extending  from  the  margin  of  sea-coast 
covered  by  the  colonists  to  the  line  of  New  York  and 
Canada.  The  history  of  man,  like  the  roll  of  the 
Prophet,  is  full,  within  and  without,  of  mourning, 
lamentation,  and  woe  ; but  I do  not  know  that  in  all 
that  history  there  is  a situation  of  such  mournful 
interest  as  this. 

The  terrible  truth  had  at  length  flashed  upon  the 
Indian  chief,  that  the  presence  of  civihzation,  even 
of  humane,  peaceful,  and  moral  civilization,  was  in- 
compatible with  the  existence  of  Indians.  He  com- 
prehended at  length  the  tremendous  power  which 
knowledge,  arts,  law,  government,  confer  upon  social 
man.  He  looked  in  vain  to  the  physical  energies, 
the  desperate,  random,  uncombmed,  and  desultory 
exertions,  the  occasional  individual  virtues  and  abili- 
ties of  barbarism,  for  an  equal  power  to  resist  it. 
He  saw  the  advancing  population  of  the  Colonies. 
He  saw  ship-loads  of  white  men  day  after  day  com- 
ing ashore  from  some  land  beyond  the  sea,  of  which 
he  could  only  know  that  it  was  over-peopled.  Every 
day  the  woodman’s  axe  sounded  nearer  and  nearer. 
Every  day  some  valuable  fishing  or  hunting-ground, 
or  corn-land,  or  meadow,  passed  out  of  the  Indian 
possession,  and  was  locked  up  for  ever  in  the  mort- 
main grasp  of  an  English  title.  What  then,  where 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTOKY. 


27 


then,  was  the  hope  of  the  Indian  ? Of  the  tribes  far 
off  to  the  East,  — the  once  terrible  Tarrateens,  — 
they  had  no  knowledge,  but  more  dread  than  of  the 
English  themselves.  The  difficulty  of  communica- 
tion, the  diversity  of  languages,  the  want  of  a press, 
the  unsocial  habits  and  policy  of  all  nomadic  races, 
made  alliances  with  the  Five  Nations  in  New  York  — 
with  any  considerable  tribe  out  of  New  England — • 
impracticable.  Civilization,  too,  was  pushing  its 
prow  up  the  Hudson,  even  more  adventurously  than 
upon  the  Connecticut  and  Charles,  the  Merrimack, 
the  Piscataqua,  and  the  Kennebec.  They  were  en- 
compassed about  as  by  the  embrace  of  a serpent, 
contracting  its  folds  closer  at  every  turn  and  struggle 
of  its  victim,  and  leisurely  choosing  its  own  time  to 
crush  liim  to  death.  Such  were  the  condition  and 
prospects  of  the  Indians  of  New  England  at  the  be- 
ginning of  Philip’s  War. 

It  is  doubtful  if  that  celebrated  chief  intended  to 
provoke  such  a war,  or  if  he  ever  anticipated  for  it  a 
successful  issue.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  after  it 
had  begun  he  threw  his  whole  great  powers  into  the 
conduct  of  it,  — that  he  formed  and  moved  a confed- 
eracy of  almost  all  the  aborigines  of  New  England 
to  its  support,  — that  he  exhausted  every  resource  of 
bravery  and  Indian  soldiership  and  statesmanship,  — 
that  he  died  at  last  for  a land  and  for  a throne  which 
he  could  not  save.  Our  fathers  called  him  King 
Philip,  in  jest.  I would  not  wrong  his  warrior-shade 
by  comparing  Irim  with  any  five  in  six  of  the  kings 
of  Europe,  of  liis  day  or  ours ; and  I sincerely  wish 
that  the  elaborate  jests  and  puns  put  forth  by  Hub- 
bard and  Mather  upon  occasion  of  his  death  were 
erased  from  the  records  of  New  England. 


28 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


111  the  course  of  this  decisive  struggle  with  the 
Colonists,  the  Indians,  some  time  when  all  human 
help  seemed  to  fail,  turned  in  anger  and  despair  to 
the  gods  of  their  gloomy  and  peculiar  worship.  Be- 
neath the  shades  of  the  forest,  which  had  stood  from 
the  creation,  — at  the  entrance  of  caverns  at  mid- 
night, — in  tempest  and  thunder,  — they  shed  the 
human  blood  and  uttered  the  incantations  which 
their  superstitions  prescribed,  and  called  up  the 
spirits  of  evil  to  blast  these  daring  strangers  who 
neither  feared,  nor  honored,  nor  recognized  the  an- 
cient divinities  of  the  Indians.  The  spirits  they  had 
raised  abandoned  them.  Their  offering  was  not  ac- 
cepted, — their  fires  of  sacrifice  were  put  out.  The 
long,  dreary  sigh  of  the  night  wind  in  the  tops  of 
the  pines  alone  answered  their  misguided  and  erring 
prayers.  Then  they  felt  that  their  doom  was  sealed, 
and  the  cry  — piercing,  bitter,  and  final  — of  a per- 
ishing nation  arose  to  heaven  ! 

Let  me  solicit  your  attention  to  another  view  of 
this  subject.  I have  urged  thus  far,  that  our  future 
Waverley  Novels  and  poetry  would  contain  a good 
deal  of  positive  information  whieh  our  histories  do 
not  eontain,  — gleanings,  if  you  please,  of  what  the 
licensed  reapers  have,  intentionallj'’  or  unintention- 
ally, let  fall  from  their  hands  ; and  that  this  informa- 
tion would  be  authentic  and  valuable.  I now  add, 
that  they  would  have  another  use.  They  would 
make  the  information  which  our  histories  do  contain 
more  accessible  and  more  engaging  to  the  great  body 
of  readers,  even  if  they  made  no  addition  to  its  abso- 
lute quantity.  They  would  melt  down,  as  it  were, 
and  stamp  the  heavy  bullion  into  a convenient,  uni- 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


29 


versal  circulating  medium.  They  would  impress  the 
facts,  the  lessons  of  history,  more  deeply,  and  incor- 
porate them  more  intimately  into  the  general  mind 
and  heart,  and  current  and  common  knowledge  of 
the  people. 

All  history,  all  records  of  the  past,  of  the  acts, 
opinions,  and  characters  of  those  who  have  preceded 
us  in  the  great  procession  of  the  generations,  is  full 
of  instruction,  and  written  for  instruction.  Espe- 
cially may  we  say  so  of  our  own  history.  But,  of  all 
which  it  teaches,  its  moral  lessons  are,  perhaps,  the 
most  valuable.  It  holds  up  to  our  emulation  and 
love  great  models  of  patriotism  and  virtue.  It  in- 
troduces us  into  the  presence  of  venerated  ancestors, 
“ of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy.”  It  teaches 
us  to  appreciate  and  cherish  this  good  land,  these 
free  forms  of  government,  this  pure  worship  of  tire 
conscience,  these  schools  of  popular  learning,  by  re- 
minding us  through  how  much  tribulation,  not  our 
own,  but  others,  these  best  gifts  of  God  to  man  have 
been  secured  to  us.  It  corrects  the  cold  selfishness 
which  would  regard  ourselves,  our  day,  and  our  gen- 
eration, as  a separate  and  insnlated  portion  of  man 
and  time  ; and,  awakening  our  sympathies  for  those 
who  have’ gone  before,  it  makes  us  mindful,  also,  of 
those  who  are  to  follow,  and  thus  binds  us  to  oar 
fathers  and  to  our  posterity  by  a lengthening  and 
golden  cord.  It  helps  us  to  realize  the  serene  and 
august  presence  and  paramount  claims  of  our  coun- 
try, and  swells  the  deep  and  full  flood  of  American 
feeling. 

Such  are  some  of  the  moral  influences  and  uses  of 
our  history.  Now,  I say  that  he  who  writes  the  ro 


so 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


mance  of  history,  as  Scott  has  written  it,  shall  teach 
these  lessons,  and  exert  and  diffuse  these  influences, 
even  better  than  he  Avho  confines  himself  to  what  I 
may  call  the  reality  of  history.  In  the  first  place, 
he  could  make  a more  select  and  discriminating 
choice  of  incidents  and  characters  and  periods  of 
time.  There  is  a story  told  of  an  epicure  who  never 
would  eat  more  than  one  mouthful  out  of  the  sunny 
side  of  the  peach.  That  is  about  the  proportion, 
about  the  quality,  of  all  which  Scott  culls  out  of 
history. 

Much  of  what  history  relates  produces  no  impres- 
sion upon  the  moral  sentiments  or  the  imagination. 
IMuch  of  it  rather  chills,  shames,  and  disgusts  us, 
than  otherwise.  Throughout  it  is  constantly  excit- 
ing a succession  of  discordant  and  ’ contradictory 
emotions,  — alternate  pride  and  mortification,  alter- 
nate love  and  anger,  alternate  commendation  and 
blame.  The  persecutions  of  the  Quakers,  the  con- 
troversies with  Roger  Williams  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson, 
the  perpetual  synods  and  ecclesiastical  surveillance 
of  the  old  times ; a great  deal  of  this  is  too  tedious 
to  be  read,  or  it  offends  and  alienates  you.  It  is 
truth,  fact ; but  it  is  just  what  you  do  not  want  to 
know,  and  are  none  the  wiser  for  knowing.  Now, 
he  who  writes  the  romance  of  history  takes  his  choice 
of  all  its  ample  but  incongruous  material.  “ What- 
soever things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things  are  just, 
whatsoever  things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are 
lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report,  if  there 
be  any  virtue  and  if  there  be  any  praise,”  — these 
things  alone  he  thinks  of  and  impresses.  In  this 
sense  he  accommodates  the  show  of  things  to  the 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


31 


desires  and  the  needs  of  the  immortal,  moral  nature. 
To  vary  a figure  of  INIilton’s,  instead  of  crowding  his 
net,  as  Time  crowds  his,  with  all  things  precious  and 
vile,  — bright  gems,  sea- weed  mixed  with  sand,  bones 
of  fishes,  — he  only  dives  for  and  brings  up  coral 
and  pearl,  and  shells  golden-valved  and  rainbow- 
colored,  murmuring  to  the  ear  like  an  .d^olian  harp. 
He  remembers  that  it  is  an  heroic  age  to  whose  con- 
templation he  would  turn  us  back  ; and  as  no  man  is 
a hero  to  his  servant,  so  no  age  is  heroic  of  Avhich  the 
whole  truth  is  recorded.  He  records  the  useful  truth 
therefore,  only,  — gathering  only  the  wheat,  wine, 
and  oil  into  his  garner,  — leaving  all  the  rest  to 
putrefy  or  be  burned. 

But  farther.  Such  a writer  as  I am  supposing  is 
not  only  privileged  to  be  more  select  and  felicitous  in 
his  topics,  his  incidents,  characters,  and  eras,  hut  he 
treats  these  topics  differently,  and  in  a way  to  give 
ten  thousand-fold  more  interest  and  impressiveness 
to  all  the  moral  lessons  they  are  adapted  to  teach. 
He  tells  the  truth,  to  be  sure ; but  he  does  not  tell 
the  whole  truth,  for  that  would  be  sometimes  mis- 
placed and  discordant.  He  tells  something  more 
than  the  truth,  too,  remembering  that  though  man  is 
not  of  imagination  all  compact^  he  is  yet,  in  part,  a 
creature  of  imagination,  and  can  be  reached  and  per- 
fected by  a law  of  his  nature  in  part  only  through 
the  imagination.  He  makes  the  imagination,  there- 
fore, he  makes  art,  wit,  eloquence,  philosophy,  and 
poetry,  invention,  a skilful  plot,  a spirited  dialogue, 
a happy  play,  balance  and  rivalry  of  characters,  — 
he  makes  all  these  contribute  to  embellish  and  rec- 
ommend that  essential,  historical  truth  which  is  as 


32 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


tlie  micleus  of  tlie  whole  fair  orb.  Thus  he  gives  a 
vividness,  individuality,  nearness,  magnitude,  to  the 
remotest  past,  which  hardly  belongs  to  the  engross- 
ing and  visible  present,  and  which  history  gives  to 
nothing.  The  Richard  of  Scott  in  his  general  char- 
acter and  principal  fortunes,  in  his  chronology  and 
geography,  so  to  speak,  is  the  Richard  of  history. 
But  the  reason  you  know  him  better  is  this:  the  par- 
ticular situations  in  which  you  see  him  in  Ivanhoe 
and  the  Crusaders,  the  conversations  he  holds,  his 
obstreperous  contest  of  drink  and  music  with  the 
holy  clerk  in  the  cell,  that  more  glorious  contest  with 
the  traitors  in  the  wood,  with  the  Normans  in  the 
castle,  the  scene  in  his  tent  in  which  he  was  so  nearly 
assassinated,  and  that  in  Saladin’s  tent  where  he 
challenged  him  in  all  love  and  honor  to  do  mortal 
battle  for  the  possession  of  Jerusalem,  — these  are 
all  supplied  by  the  imagination  of  the  writer  to  the 
imagination  of  the  reader.  Probably  they  all  hap- 
pened just  as  they  are  set  forth ; but  you  can’t  ex- 
actly prove  it  out  of  any  book  of  history.  They  are 
all  probable ; they  are  exactly  consistent  with  what 
we  do  know  and  can  prove.  But  the  record  is  lost 
by  time  and  accident.  They  lie  beyond  the  province 
of  reason  ; but  faith  and  imagination  stretch  beyond 
that  province,  and  complete  the  shadowy  and  imper- 
fect revelation.  History  shows  you  prospects  by 
starlight,  or  at  best  by  the  waning  moon.  Romantic 
fiction,  as  Scott  writes  it,  does  not  create  a new 
heaven  and  a new  earth ; but  it  just  pours  the 
brightness  of  noonday  over  the  earth  and  sky.  He 
shows  you  the  same  prospect  which  history  does. 
But  he  shows  it  from  a different  point  of  view,  and 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


3b 


tliroiigli  a brighter,  more  lustrous  medium,  and  by  a 
more  powerful  optical  instrument.  Some  things 
which  history  would  show,  you  do  not  see.  But  you 
see  the  best  of  every  thing,  — all  that  is  grand  and 
beautiful  of  Nature,  all  that  is  brilliant  in  achieve- 
ment, all  that  is  magnanimous  in  virtue,  all  that  is 
sublime  in  self-sacrifice ; and  you  see  a great  deal 
more  of  which  history  shows  you  nothing.  To  say 
that  Scott’s  view  of  an  age,  a character,  or  a histori- 
cal event,  is  not  a true  view,  is  not  much  more  sensi- 
ble than  to  say  that  nothing  exists  but  what  you  can 
see  in  the  dark,  — that  he  who  brings  a light  into 
your  room  in  the  night  suddenly  creates  every  thing 
which  you  are  enabled  to  discover  by  the  light  of  it. 

I do  not  know  that  I can  better  illustrate  this  dif- 
ference between  the  romance  and  the  reality  of  his- 
tory, and  in  some  respects  the  superiority  of  the 
former  for  teaching  and  impressing  mere  historical 
truth,  than  by  going  back  to  the  ten  years  which 
immediately  preceded  the  Battle  of  Lexington.  If 
idle  wishes  were  not  sinful  as  well  as  idle,  that  of  all 
time  past  is  the  period  in  which  we  might  all  wish  to 
have  lived.  Yet  how  meagre  and  unsatisfactory  is 
the  mere  written  history  of  that  day.  Indeed,  there 
is  hardly  any  thing  there  for  history.  The  tea  was 
thrown  overboard,  to  be  sure,  and  The  Gaspe 
burned ; town  meetings  were  held,  and  committees 
of  correspondence  chosen,  and  touching  appeals,  of 
pathos  and  argument  and  eloquence  unequalled, 
addressed  to  the  king  and  people  of  England  in 
behalf  of  their  oppressed  subjects  and  brethren  of 
America.  And  when  history  has  told  you  this  she 
is  silent.  You  must  go  to  Scott,  or  evoke  the  still 

3 


34 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


mightier  Shakspeare  or  Homer,  if  you  would  truly 
know  what  that  day  was,  — what  the  people  of  that 
day  were,  — if  you  would  share  in  that  strong  and 
wide  excitement,  see  that  feeling,  not  loud  but  deep, 
of  anger  and  grief  and  conscious  worth,  and  the 
sense  of  violated  rights,  in  that  mingled  and  luxu- 
rious emotion  of  hope  and  apprehension  with  which 
the  heart  of  the  whole  country  throbbed  and  labored 
as  the  heart  of  a man.  And  how  would  Scott  reveal 
to  you  the  spirit  of  that  age  ? He  would  place  you 
in  the  middle  of  a group  of  citizens  of  Boston,  going 
home  from  the  Old  South,  perhaps,  or  Faneuil  Hall, 
where  James  Otis,  or  Josiah  Quincy,  or  Samuel 
Adams,  had  been  speaking,  and  let  you  listen  to 
their  conversation.  He  would  take  you  to  their 
meeting  on  Sunday  when  the  congregation  stood  up 
in  prayer,  and  the  venerable  pastor  adverted  to  the 
crisis,  and  asked  for  strength  and  guidance  from 
above  to  meet  it.  He  would  remark  to  you  that 
varied  expression  which  ran  instantaneously  over  the 
general  countenance  of  the  assembly,  and  show  you 
in  that  varied  expression  — the  varied  fortunes  of 
America  — the  short  sorrow,  the  long  joy,  the  strife, 
the  triumph,  the  agony,  and  the  glory.  In  that  con- 
gregation you  might  see  in  one  seat  the  worn  frame 
of  a mother  whose  husband  followed  the  banners  of 
Wolfe,  and  fell  with  him  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham, 
shuddering  with  apprehension  lest  such  a life  and 
such  a death  await  her  only  son,  yet  striving  as  be- 
came a matron  of  New  England,  for  grace  to  make 
even  that  sacrifice.  You  might  see  old  men  who 
dragged  Sir  William  Pepperell’s  cannon  along  the 
beach  at  Louisburg,  now  only  regretting  that  they 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


35 


had  not  half  so  much  youthful  vigor  left  to  fight 
their  king  as  they  then  used  up  in  fighting  his  ene- 
mies. You  read  in  yonder  eye  of  fire  the  energy 
and  ardor  of  a statesman  like  John  Adams,  seeing 
clear  through  that  day’s  business,  and  beholding  the 
bright  spot  beyond  the  gloom.  You  see  the  blood 
mount  into  that  cheek  of  manly  beauty,  betraying 
the  youthful  Warren’s  dream  of  fame  ! But  as  the 
pastor  proceeded,  and  his  feelings  rose,  and  his  voice 
swelled  to  its  full  expression,  as  he  touched  on  the 
rights  of  the  Colonies  and  the  injustice  of  the  king,  — 
as  his  kindling  imagination  presented  to  him  the 
scenes  of  coming  and  doubtful  conflict,  and  he 
prayed  that  He  to  whom  the  shields  of  the  earth 
belong  would  gird  on  his  sword  and  go  forth  with 
our  hosts  on  the  day  of  battle,  and  would  open  their 
eyes  to  behold  in  every  valley  and  in  every  plain,  as 
the  prophet  beheld  by  the  same  illumination,  chariots 
of  fire  and  horses  of  fire,  — you  would  see  then  all 
those  minor  shades  of  individual  peculiarity  pass 
away  from  the  face  of  the  assembly,  and  one  uni- 
versal and  sublime  expression  of  religion  and  pa- 
triotism diffuse  itself  over  all  countenances  alike,  as 
sunshine  upon  a late  disturbed  sea. 

Thus  somewhat  would  Scott  contrive  to  give  jmu 
a perception  of  that  indefinable  yet  real  and  opera- 
tive existence,  — the  spirit  of  a strongly  agitated 
age,  — of  the  temper  and  determination  of  a people 
in  a state  of  high  excitement  and  fermentation,  not 
yet  broken  out  into  overt  conduct,  — of  that  interval 
so  full  of  strange  interest,  between  the  acting  of 
a dreadful  thing  and  the  first  motion.  He  does  it 
simply  and  shortly  by  the  power  of  philosophical 


36 


BIPORTAJJCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


imagination  working  upon  known  facts,  actual  expe- 
rience,  and  the  uniform  laws  of  the  human  mind. 

In  leaving  this  subject,  I cannot  help  suggesting, 
at  the  hazard  of  being  thought  whimsical,  that  a 
literature  of  such  writings  as  these,  embodying  the 
romance  of  the  whole  revolutionary  and  ante-revolu- 
tionary history  of  the  United  States,  might  do  some- 
thing to  perpetuate  the  Union  itself.  The  influence 
of  a rich  literature  of  passion  and  fancy  upon  society 
must  not  be  denied  merely  because  you  cannot 
measure  it  by  the  yard  or  detect  it  by  the  barometer. 
Poems  and  romances  which  shall  be  read  in  every 
parlor,  by  every  flreside,  in  every  school-house,  behind 
every  counter,  in  every  printing-office,  in  everj^  law- 
yer’s office,  at  every  weekly  evening  club,  in  all  the 
States  of  this  Confederacy,  must  do  something,  along 
with  more  palpable  if  not  more  powerful  agents, 
toward  moulding  and  fixing  that  final,  grand,  com- 
plex result,  — the  national  character.  A keen,  well- 
instructed  judge  of  such  things  said,  if  he  might  write 
the  ballads  of  a people,  he  cared  little  who  made  its 
laws.  Let  me  say,  if  a hundred  men  of  genius  would 
extract  such  a body  of  romantic  literature  from  our 
early  history  as  Scott  has  extracted  from  the  history 
of  England  and  Scotland,  and  as  Homer  extracted 
from  that  of  Greece,  it  perhaps  would  not  be  so 
alarming  if  demagogues  should  preach,  or  governors 
practise,  or  executives  tolerate  nullification.  Such 
a literature  would  be  a common  property  of  all  the 
States,  — a treasure  of  common  ancestral  recollec- 
tions, — more  noble  and  richer  than  our  thousand 
million  acres  of  public  land ; and,  unlike  that  land, 
it  woidd  be  indivisible.  It  would  be  as  the  open- 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY. 


37 


iiig  of  a great  fountain  for  the  healing  of  the 
nations.  It  would  turn  back  our  thoughts  from  these 
recent  and  overrated  diversities  of  interest,  — these 
controversies  about  negro-cloth,  coarse-woolled  sheep, 
and  cotton  bagging,  — to  the  day  when  our  fathers 
walked  hand  in  hand  together  through  the  valley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death  in  the  War  of  Independence. 
Reminded  of  onr  fathers,  we  shoidd  remember  that 
we  are  brethi’en.  The  exclusiveness  of  State  pride, 
the  narrow  selfishness  of  a mere  local  policy,  and  the 
small  jealousies  of  vulgar  minds,  would  be  merged 
in  an  expanded,  comprehensive,  constitntional  senti- 
ment of  old,  family,  fraternal  regard.  It  wonld  re- 
assemble, as  it  were,  the  people  of  America  in  one 
vast  congregation.  It  would  rehearse  in  their  hear- 
ing all  things  which  God  had  done  for  them  in  the 
old  time  ; it  wonld  proclaim  the  law  once  more  ; and 
then  it  wonld  bid  them  join  in  that  grandest  and 
most  affecting  solemnity,  — a national  anthem  of 
thanksgiving  for  the  deliverance,  of  honor  for  the 
dead,  of  proud  prediction  for  the  future ! 

It  were  good  for  us  to  remember  that  nothing 
which  tends,  however  distantly,  however  impercepti- 
bly, to  hold  these  States  together,  is  beneath  the 
notice  of  a considerate  patriotism.  It  were  good  to 
remember  that  some  of  the  institutions  and  devices 
by  which  former  confederacies  have  been  preserved, 
our  circumstances  wholly  forbid  us  to  employ.  The 
tribes  of  Israel  and  Jndah  came  up  three  times  a 
year  to  the  holy  and  beantiful  city  and  united  in 
prayer  and  praise  and  sacrifice,  in  listening  to  that 
thrilling  poetry,  in  swelling  that  matchless  song, 
which  celebrated  the  triumphs  of  their  fathers  by  the 


38 


IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING 


Red  Sea,  at  the  fords  of  Jordan,  and  on  the  high 
places  of  the  field  of  Barak’s  victory.  But  we  have 
no  feast  of  the  Passover,  or  of  the  Tabernacles,  or  of 
the  Commemoration.  The  States  of  Greece  erected 
temples  of  the  gods  by  a common  contribution,  and 
worshipped  in  them.  They  consulted  the  same  ora- 
cle ; they  celebrated  the  same  national  festival ; min- 
gled their  dehberations  in  the  same  Amphictyonic 
and  subordinate  assemblies,  and  sat  together  upon 
the  same  benches  to  hear  their  glorious  history  read 
aloud,  in  the  prose  of  Herodotus,  the  poetry  of 
Homer  and  of  Pindar.  We  have  built  no  national 
temples  but  the  Capitol;  we  consult  no  common 
oracle  but  the  Constitution.  We  can  meet  together 
to  celebrate  no  national  festival.  But  the  thousand 
tongues  of  the  press  — clearer  far  than  the  silver 
trumpet  of  the  jubilee  — louder  than  the  voice  of 
the  herald  at  the  games  — may  speak  and  do  speak 
to  the  whole  people,  without  calling  them  from  their 
homes  or  interrupting  them  in  their  employments. 
Happy  if  they  should  speak,  and  the  people  should 
hear,  those  things  which  pertain  at  least  to  their 
temporal  and  national  salvation ! 

It  is  painful  to  reflect  that  for  whomsoever  else  is 
reserved  this  great  achievement  of  beginning  to 
create  our  national  romantic  literature,  it  is  not  for 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  He  died  at  his  residence  on  the 
22d  of  September,  and  sleeps  beneath  the  “ pillared 
arches”  of  Dryburgh  Abbey.  In  the  introduction 
to  that  delightful  poem,  the  “ Lady  of  the  Lake,”  he 
represents  himself  as  taking  down  the  long  silent 
harp  of  the  North  from  “ the  witch  elm  that  shades 
St.  Fillan’s  Spring,”  and  reverently  attempting  to 


NEW  ENGLAND  HISTOEY, 


39 


wake  it  again  to  an  echo  of  its  earlier  and  nobler 
strains.  That  harp  whose  sway  so  many  thi’obbing 
hearts  have  owned,  is  hung  again  on  that  tree  for 
the  night  wind  to  breathe  on,  — “ mouldering  and 
muffled  with  envious  ivy.”  Even  now  we  may  fancy 
its  last  tones  falling  on  the  ears  of  the  Minstrel’s 
contemporaries  and  survivors. 

“ Receding  now  — its  dying  numbers  ring 
Painter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell ; 

And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 
A wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell; 

And  now  — ’tis  silent  all  — Enchantress,  fare  thee  well  1 ” 


40  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND: 

AN  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT  THE  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION 
OF  THE  SETTLEMENT  OF  THE  TOWN  OF  IPSWICH,  MASS., 
AUGUST  16,  1831. 


It  is  a fact  which  a native  of  this  old,  fertile,  and 
beautiful  town  may  learn  with  pleasure,  but  without 
surprise,  that  it  was  always  the  most  fertile  or  among 
the  most  fertile  and  most  beautiful  portions  of  the 
coast  of  New  England.  John  Smith,  who  in  1614 
explored  that  coast  from  Penobscot  to  Cape  Cod, 
admires  and  praises  “ the  many  rising  hills  of  Aga- 
wam,” whose  tops  and  descents  are  grown  over  with 
numerous  corn-fields  and  delightful  groves,  the 
island  to  the  east,  with  its  “ fair  high  woods  of  mul- 
berry trees,”  and  the  luxuriant  growth  of  oaks, 
pines,  and  walnuts,  “ which  make  the  place,”  he 
says,  “an  excellent  habitation;”  while  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  in  December,  1620,  when  deliberating  on  the 
choice  of  a spot  for  their  settlement,  some  of  them 
“ urged  greatly  to  Anguan  or  Angoan,  a place  twenty 
leagues  off  to  the  northward,  which  they  heard  to 
l)e  an  excellent  harbor  for  ships,  better  ground,  and 
better  fishing.”  As  early  as  January,  1632,  the  first 
governor  of  Massachusetts,  John  Winthrop,  declared 
Agawam  to  be  “ the  best  place  for  tillage  and  cattle 
in  the  land ; ” others  described  its  great  meadows, 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  41 


marshes,  and  plain  ploughing  grounds  ; and  that  the 
government  of  the  infant  colony,  Massachusetts,  at 
the  time  resolved  that  it  should  be  occupied  forth- 
with by  a sort  of  garrison,  in  advance  and  in  antici- 
pation of  its  more  formal  and  numerous  settlement, 
for  the  express  purpose  of  keeping  so  choice  a spot 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  French.  In  March,  1633, 
accordingly,  there  was  sent  hither  a company  of 
thirteen  men  to  acquire  and  to  preserve,  rather  for 
the  future  than  the  present  uses  of  the  Colony,  as 
much  as  they  might  of  that  fair  variety  of  hill,  plain, 
wood,  meadow,  marsh,  and  seashore,  whose  fame  had 
spread  so  widely.  The  leader  of  the  little  band  was 
John  Winthrop,  the  son  of  the  Governor.  They 
arrived  in  that  month  — the  dreariest  of  the  New 
England  year  — on  the  banks  of  the  river  which 
washes  in  his  sweet  and  cheerful  course  the  foot  of 
the  hill  on  which  we  are  assembled.  They  proceeded 
to  purchase  of  Masconomo,  the  Sagamore  of  Agawam, 
by  a deed  to  him,  Winthrop,  a portion  of  the  terri- 
tory which  composes  the  present  corporation  of 
Ipswich ; and  there  remained  without,  I imagine, 
any  considerable  addition  to  their  number,  without 
any  regularly  organized  church,  or  stated  preaching, 
or  municipal  character,  until  May,  1634.  At  that 
time  the  Rev.  Thomas  Parker,  the  pupil  of  the 
learned  Archbishop  Usher  of  Dublin,  and  about  one 
hundred  more,  men,  women,  and  children,  came  over 
from  “ the  Bay  ” and  took  up  their  abode  on  the 
spot  thus  made  ready  for  them.  In  August,  1634, 
the  first  church  was  organized ; and  on  this  day  two 
hundred  years  ago  the  town  was  incorporated.  With 
that  deep  filial  love  of  England  and  the  English, 


42  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


wliicli  neither  persecution,  nor  exile,  nor  distance, 
nor  the  choice  of  another  and  dearer  home,  nor  the 
contemplation  of  the  rapidly  revealing  and  proud 
destinies  of  the  New  World,  ever  entirely  plucked 
from  the  hearts  of  all  the  Colonists  down  to  the  war 
of  Independence,  they  took  the  name  of  Ipswich 
from  the  Ipswich  of  the  east  coast  of  England,  the 
capital  of  the  county  of  Suifolk,  and  the  birthplace 
of  Cardinal  Wolsey. 

And  thus  and  by  these  was  begun  the  civil  and 
ecclesiastical  establishment  and  history  of  Ipswich. 
You  have  done  well  in  this  way  to  commemorate  an 
event  of  so  much  interest  to  you.  It  is  well  thus 
filially,  thus  piously,  to  wipe  away  the  dust,  if  you 
may,  which  two  hundred  years  have  gathered  upon 
the  tombs  of  the  fathers.  It  is  well  that  you  have 
gathered  yourselves  together  on  this  height ; that  as 
you  stand  here  and  look  abroad  upon  as  various  and 
inspiring  a view  as  the  sun  shines  upon ; as  you 
see  fields  of  grain  bending  before  the  light  summer 
wind,  — one  harvest  just  now  ready  for  the  sickle, 
and  another  and  a richer  preparing ; as  you  see  your 
own  flocks  upon  the  tops  and  descents  of  the  many 
rising  hills ; mowing-lands  shaven  by  the  scythe ; 
the  slow  river  winding  between  still  meadows, 
ministering  in  his  way  to  the  processes  of  nature 
and  of  art,  — losing  himself  at  last  under  your  eye 
in  the  sea,  as  life,  busy  or  quiet,  glides  into  immor- 
tality ; as  you  hear  peace  and  plenty  proclaiming 
with  a thousand  voices  the  reign  of  freedom,  law, 
order,  morality,  and  religion  ; as  you  look  upon  these 
charities  of  God,  these  schools  of  useful  learning  and 
graceful  accomplishment,  these  great  workshops  of 


TKE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


43 


youi’  manufacturers,  in  wliich  are  witnessed  — per- 
formed every  day  — achievements  of  art  and  science 
to  which  the  whole  genius  of  the  ancient  world  pre- 
sents nothing  equal ; as  you  dwell  on  all  this  various, 
touching,  inspiring  picture  in  miniature  of  a busy, 
prosperous,  free,  happy,  thrice  and  four  times  happy, 
and  blessed  people,  — it  is  well  that  standing  here 
you  should  look  backwards  as  well  as  around  you 
and  forward,  — that  you  should  call  to  mind,  to 
whom  under  God  you  owe  all  these  things ; whose 
weakness  has  grown  into  this  strength ; whose  sor- 
rows have  brought  this  exceeding  great  joy ; whose 
tears  and  blood,  as  they  scattered  the  seed  of  that 
cold,  late,  ungenial,  and  uncertain  spring,  have  fer- 
tilized this  natural  and  moral  harvest  which  is  rolled 
out  at  your  feet  as  one  unbounded  flood. 

The  more  particular  history  of  Ipswich  from  its 
settlement  to  this  day,  and  of  the  towns  of  Hamilton 
and  Essex,  — shoots  successively  from  the  parent 
stock,  — has  been  written  so  minutely  and  with  such 
general  accuracy,  by  a learned  clergyman  of  this 
county,  that  I may  be  spared  the  repetition  of  details 
with  which  he  has  made  you  familiar.  This  occasion, 
too,  I think,  prescribes  topics  somewhat  more  general. 
That  long  line  of  learned  ministers,  upright  magis- 
trates, and  valiant  men  of  whom  we  are  justly  proud 
— our  municipal  fathers  — were  something  more  and 
other  than  the  mere  founders  of  Ipswich  ; and  we 
must  remember  their  entire  character  and  all  their 
relations  to  their  own  times  and  to  ours,  or  we  cannot 
do  them  adequate  honor.  It  is  a boast  of  our  local 
annals  that  they  do  not  flow  in  a separate  and  soli- 
tary stream,  but  blend  themselves  with  that  broader 


44  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


and  deeper  current  of  events,  the  universal  ante- 
revolutionary  history  of  North  America.  It  is  the 
foundation  of  an  empire,  and  not  merely  the  purchase 
and  plantation  of  Agawam,  which  we  commemorate, 

— whether  we  will  or  not;  and  I do  not  fear  that 
we  shall  enlarge  our  contemplations  too  far,  or  ele- 
vate them  too  high,  for  the  service  to  which  we  have 
devoted  this  day. 

The  history  of  the  Colonies  which  were  planted 
one  after  another  along  our  coast  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  which  grew  np  in  the  fulness  of  time 
into  thirteen  and  at  last  into  twenty-four  States, 
from  their  respective  beginnings  to  the  war  of  Inde- 
pendence, is  full  of  interest  and  instruction,  for  what- 
ever pnrpose  or  in  whatever  way  you  choose  to  read 
it.  But  there  is  one  point  of  view  in  which,  if  you 
will  look  at  the  events  which  furnished  the  matter 
of  that  colonial  history,  I think  you  will  agree  with 
me  that  they  assume  a character  of  peculiar  interest, 
and  entitle  themselves  to  distinct  and  profound  con- 
sideration. I regard  those  events  altogether  as  form- 
ing a vast  and  various  series  of  influences,  — a long, 
austere,  effective  course  of  discipline  and  instruction, 

— by  which  the  settlers  and  their  children  were 
slowly  and  painfully  trained  to  achieve  their  inde- 
pendence, to  form  their  constitutions  of  State  gov- 
ernments and  of  federal  government,  and  to  act 
usefully  and  greatly  their  part  as  a separate  political 
community  on  the  high  places  of  the  world. 

The  Colonial  period,  as  I regard  it,  was  the 
charmed,  eventful  infancy  and  youth  of  our  national 
life.  The  revolutionary  and  constitutional  age,  from 
1775  to  1789,  was  the  beginning  of  its  manhood. 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OE  NEW  ENGLAND.  45 


The  Declaration  of  Independence,  the  succeeding 
conduct  of  the  war  of  Independence,  the  establish- 
ment  of  our  local  and  general  governments,  and  the 
splendid  national  career  since  run,  — these  are  only 
effects,  fruits,  outward  manifestations ! The  seed 
was  sown,  the  salient  living  spring  of  great  action 
sunk  deep  in  that  long,  remote,  less  brilliant,  less 
regarded  season,  — the  heroic  age  of  America  that 
preceded.  The  Revolution  was  the  meeting  of  the 
rivers  at  the  mountain.  You  may  look  there,  to  see 
them  rend  it  asunder,  tear  it  down  from  its  summit 
to  its  base,  and  pass  off  to  the  sea. 

But  the  Colonial  period  is  the  country  above, 
where  the  rivers  were  created.  You  must  explore 
that  region  if  you  would  find  the  secret  fountains 
where  they  began  their  course,  the  contributory 
streams  by  which  they  grew,  the  high  lands  covered 
with  woods,  which,  attracting  the  vapors  as  they 
floated  about  them,  poured  down  rain  and  melted 
snow  to  swell  their  currents,  and  helped  onward  the 
momentum  by  which  they  broke  through  the  walls 
of  nature  and  shook  the  earth  itself  to  its  centre  ! 
One  of  our  most  accomplished  scholars  and  distin- 
guished public  men  speaks  somewhere  of  the  “ Mir- 
acle of  the  Revolution.”  I would  say  rather  that 
the  true  miracle  was  the  character  of  the  people  who 
made  the  Revolution ; and  I have  thought  that  an 
attempt  to  unfold  some  of  the  great  traits  of  that 
character,  and  to  point  out  the  manner  in  which  the 
events  of  the  preceding  Colonial  Age  contributed  to 
form  and  impress  those  traits,  imperfect  as  it  must 
be,  would  be  entirely  applicable  to  this  occasion. 


46  THE  COLONIAL  xlGE  OF  NFAT  ENGLAND. 


The  leading  feature,  then,  in  the  character  of  the 
American  people  in  the  age  of  the  Revolution  was 
what  Burke  called  in  Parliament  their  fierce  spirit 
of  liberty.”  “ It  is  stronger  in  them,”  said  he,  “ than 
in  any  other  people  on  the  earth.”  “ I am  con- 
vinced,” said  our  youthful  and.  glorious  Warren, — 
in  a letter  to  Quincy,  little  more  than  six  months 
before  he  fell  on  the  heights  of  Charlestown,  — “I  am 
convinced  that  the  true  spirit  of  liberty  was  never  so 
universally  clifiFused  through  all  ranks  and  orders  of 
men  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  as  it  now  is  through  all 
North  America.  It  is  the-  united  voice  of  America 
to  preserve  their  freedom  or  lose  their  lives  in 
defence  of  it.”  Whoever  overlooks,  whoever  un- 
derestimates this  trait  in  the  character  of  that  gen- 
eration of  ‘our  fathers,  — whoever  has  not  carefully 
followed  it  upwards  to  its  remote  and  deep  springs, 
may  wonder  at,  but  never  can  comprehend,  the 
“ Miracle  of  the  Revolution.”  Whence,  then,  did 
they  derive  it  ? Let  us  return  to  the  history  of  the 
Colonists  before  they  came,  and  after  they  came,  for 
the  answer ; and  for  distinctness  and  brevity  let  us 
confine  ourselves  to  the  Northern  Colonists,  our  im- 
mediate ancestors. 

The  people  of  New  England,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  Revolutionary  War,  to  describe  them  in  a word, 
were  the  Puritans  of  Old  England  as  they  existed  in 
that  country  in  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury ; but  changed  — somewhat  improved,  let  me 
say  — by  the  various  influences  which  acted  upon 
them  here  for  a hundred  and  fifty  years  after  they 
came  over. 

The  original  stock  was  the  Puritan  character  of 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  47 


the  age  of  Elizabeth,  of  James  I.,  and  of  Charles  I. 
It  was  transplanted  to  another  soil ; another  sun 
shone  on  it ; other  winds  fanned  and  shook  it ; the 
seasons  of  another  heaven  for  a century  and  a half 
circled  round  it ; and  there  it  stood  at  length,  the 
joint  product  of  the  old  and  the  new,  deep-rooted, 
healthful,  its  trunk  massive,  compact,  and  of  rough 
and  gnarled  exterior,  but  bearing  to  the  sky  the 
glory  of  the  wood. 

Turn  first  now,  for  a moment,  to  the  Old  English 
Puritans,  the  fathers  of  our  fathers,  of  whom  came, 
of  whom  were,  planters  of  Ipswich,  of  Massachu- 
setts, of  New  England,  — of  whom  came,  of  whom 
were,  our  own  Ward,  Parker,  and  Saltonstall,  and 
Wise,  Norton,  and  Rogers,  and  Appleton,  and  Cob- 
bet,  and  Winthrop,  — and  see  whether  they  were 
likely  to  be  the  founders  of  a race  of  freemen  or 
slaves.  Remember,  then,  the  true,  noblest,  the  least 
questioned,  least  questionable,  praise  of  these  men 
is  this : that  for  a hundred  years  they  were  the  sole 
depositaries  of  the  sacred  fire  of  liberty  in  England, 
after  it  had  gone  out  in  every  other  bosom,  — that 
they  saved  at  its  last  gasp  the  English  constitution, 
which  the  Tudors  and  the  first  two  Stuarts  were  rap- 
idly changing  into  just  such  a gloomy  despotism  as 
they  saw  in  France  and  Spain,  and  wrought  into  it 
every  particle  of  freedom  which  it  now  possesses,  — 
that  Avhen  they  first  took  their  seats  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  in  the  early  part  of  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth, they  found  it  the  cringing  and  ready  tool  of 
the  throne,  and  that  they  reanimated  it,  remodelled 
it,  reasserted  its  privileges,  restored  it  to  its  constitu- 
tional rank,  drew  back  to  it  the  old  power  of  making 


48  THE  COLOXIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


laws,  redressing  wrongs,  and  imposing  taxes,  and 
thus  again  rebuilt  and  opened  what  an  Englishman 
called  “the  chosen  temple  of  liberty,”  an  English 
House  of  Commons,  — that  they  abridged  the  tre- 
mendous power  of  the  crown  and  defined  it,  — and 
when  at  last  Charles  Stuart  resorted  to  arms  to  re- 
store the  despotism  they  had  partially  overthrown, 
that  they  met  him  on  a hundred  fields  of  battle,  and 
buried,  after  a sharp  and  long  struggle,  crown  and 
mitre  and  the  headless  trunk  of  the  kins'  himself 
beneath  the  foundations  of  a civil  and  religious  com- 
monwealth. This  praise  all  the  historians  of  Eng- 
land — Whig  and  Tory,  Protestant  and  Catholic, 
Hume,  Hallam,  Lingard,  and  all  — award  to  the 
Puritans.  By  what  causes  this  spirit  of  liberty  had 
been  breathed  into  the  masculine,  enthusiastic,  aus- 
tere, resolute  character  of  this  extraordinary  body  of 
men,  in  such  intensity  as  to  mark  them  off  from  all 
the  rest  of  the  people  of  England,  I cannot  here  and 
now  particularly  consider.  It  is  a thrilling  and 
awful  history  of  the  Puritans  in  England,  from  their 
first  emerging  above  the  general  level  of  Protestants, 
in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Edward  VI.,  until 
they  were  driven  by  hundreds  and  thousands  to 
these  shores ; but  I must  pass  it  over.  It  was  just 
when  the  nobler  and  grander  traits  — the  enthusiasm 
and  piety  and  hardihood  and  energy  — of  Puritanism 
had  attained  the  highest  point  of  exaltation  to  which, 
in  England,  it  ever  mounted  up,  and  the  love  of  lib- 
erty had  grown  to  be  the  great  master-passion  tliat 
fired  and  guided  all  the  rest,  — it  was  just  then  that 
our  portion  of  its  disciples,  filled  with  the  undiluted 
spirit,  glowing  with  the  intensest  fervors  of  Protes- 


THE  COLO]SHAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGL.iND.  49 


tautism  and  republicanism  together,  came  hither,  and 
in  that  elevated  and  holy  and  resolved  frame  began 
to  build  the  civil  and  religious  structures  which  you 
see  around  you. 

Trace,  now,  their  story  a little  farther  onward 
through  the  Colonial  period  to  the  War  of  Inde- 
pendence, to  admire  with  me  the  providential  ar- 
rangement of  circumstances  by  which  that  spirit  of 
liberty,  which  brought  them  hither,  was  strengthened 
and  reinforced,  until  at  length,  instructed  by  wisdom, 
tempered  by  virtue,  and  influenced  by  injuries,  by 
anger  and  grief  and  conscious  worth  and  the  sense  of 
violated  right,  it  burst  forth  here  and  wrought  the 
wonders  of  the  Revolution.  I have  thought  that  if 
one  had  the  power  to  place  a youtliful  and  forming 
people,  like  the  northern  colonists,  in  whom  the  love 
of  freedom  was  already  vehement  and  healthful,  in 
a situation  the  most  propitious  for  the  growth  and 
perfection  of  that  sacred  sentiment,  he  could  hardly 
select  a fairer  field  for  so  interesting  an  experiment 
than  the  actual  condition  of  our  fathers  for  the  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  after  their  arrival,  to  the  War  of 
the  Revolution. 

They  had  freedom  enough  to  teach  them  its  value, 
and  to  refresh  and  elevate  their  spirits,  wearied,  not 
despondent,  from  the  contentions  and  trials  of  Eng- 
land. They  were  just  so  far  short  of  perfect  free- 
dom, that,  instead  of  reposing  for  a moment  in  the 
mere  fruition  of  what  they  had,  they  were  kept  em- 
ulous and  eager  for  more,  looking  all  the  while  up 
and  aspiring  to  rise  to  a loftier  height,  to  breathe  a 
purer  air,  and  bask  in  a brighter  beam.  Compared 
with  the  condition  of  England  down  to  1688,  — cora- 

4 


50  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


pared  witli  that  of  the  larger  part  of  the  continent 
of  Europe  down  to  our  Revolution,  — theirs  was  a 
privileged  and  liberal  condition.  The  necessaries  of 
freedom,  if  I may  say  so,  — its  plainer  food  and 
homelier  garments  and  humbler  habitations,  — were 
theirs.  Its  luxuries  and  refinements,  its  festivals,  its 
lettered  and  social  glory,  its  loftier  port  and  prouder 
look  and  richer  graces,  were  tlie  growth  of  a later 
day ; these  came  in  with  independence.  Here  was 
liberty  enough  to  make  them  love  it  for  itself,  and 
to  fill  them  with  those  lofty  and  kindred  sentiments 
which  are  at  once  its  fruit  and  its  nutriment  and 
safeguard  in  the  soul  of  man.  But  their  liberty  was 
still  incomplete,  and  it  was  constantly  in  danger  from 
England  ; and  these  two  circumstances  had  a power- 
ful effect  in  increasing  that  love  and  confirming  those 
sentiments.  It  was  a condition  precisely  adapted  to 
keep  liberty,  as  a subject  of  thought  and  feeling  and 
desire,  every  moment  in  mind.  Every  moment 
they  were  comparing  what  they  had  possessed 
with  what  they  wanted  and  had  a right  to ; they 
calculated  by  the  rule  of  three,  if  a fractional  part 
of  freedom  came  to  so  much,  what  would  express 
the  power  and  value  of  the  whole  number ! They 
were  restive  and  impatient  and  ill  at  ease ; a 
galling  wakefulness  possessed  their  faculties  like  a 
spell.  Had  they  been  wholly  slaves,  they  had  lain 
still  and  slept.  Had  they  been  wholly  free,  that 
eager  hope,  that  fond  desire,  that  longing  after 
a great,  distant,  yet  practicable  good,  would  have 
given  way  to  the  placidity  and  luxury  and  careless- 
ness of  complete  enjoyment ; and  that  energy  and 
wholesome  agitation  of  mind  would  have  gone  down 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  51 


like  an  ebb-tide.  As  it  was,  the  whole  vast  body  of 
waters  all  over  its  surface,  down  to  its  sunless,  ut- 
most depths,  was  heaved  and  shaken  and  purified  by 
a spirit  that  moved  above  it  and  through  it,  and  gave 
it  no  rest,  though  the  moon  waned  and  the  winds 
were  in  their  caves ; they  were  like  the  disciples  of 
the  old  and  bitter  philosophy  of  Paganism,  who  had 
been  initiated  into  one  stage  of  the  greater  mysteries, 
and  who  had  come  to  the  door,  closed,  and  written 
over  with  strange  characters,  which  led  up  to  an- 
other. They  had  tasted  of  truth,  and  they  burned 
for  a fuller  draught ; a partial  revelation  of  that 
which  shall  be  hereafter  had  dawned ; and  their 
hearts  throbbed  eager,  yet  not  without  apprehension, 
to  look  upon  the  glories  of  the  perfect  day.  Some 
of  the  mystery  of  God,  of  Nature,  of  Man,  of  the 
Universe,  had  been  unfolded  ; might  they,  by  prayer, 
by  abstinence,  by  virtue,  by  retirement,  by  contem- 
plation, entitle  themselves  to  read  another  page  in 
the  clasped  and  awful  volume  ? 

Sparing  and  inadequate  as  their  supply  of  liberty 
was,  it  was  all  the  while  in  danger  from  the  Crown 
and  Parliament  of  England,  and  the  whole  ante- 
revolutionary  period  was  one  unintermitted  struggle 
to  preserve  it,  and  to  wrest  it  away.  You  sometimes 
hear  the  Stamp  Act  spoken  of  as  the  first  invasion  of 
the  rights  of  the  colonists  by  the  mother  country. 
In  truth,  it  was  about  the  last ; the  most  flagrant, 
perhaps,  the  most  dreadful  and  startling  to  an  Eng- 
lishman’s idea  of  liberty,  but  not  the  first,  — no,  by 
a hundred  and  fifty  years  not  the  first.  From  the 
day  that  the  Pilgrims  on  board  The  hlayflower  at 
Plymouth,  before  they  landed,  drew  up  that  simple. 


52  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

but  pregnant  and  comprehensive,  form  of  democracy, 
and  subscribed  their  names,  and  came  out  a colony 
of  republicans,  to  the  battle  of  Lexington,  there 
were  not  ten  years  together,  — I hardly  exempt  the 
Protectorate  of  Cromwell,  — in  which  some  right  — 
some  great  and  sacred  right,  as  the  colonists  regarded 
it  — was  not  assailed  or  menaced  by  the  government 
of  England,  in  one  form  or  another.  From  the  first, 
the  mother  country  complained  that  we  had  brought 
from  England,  or  had  found  here,  too  much  liherty,  — 
liberty  inconsistent  with  prerogatives  of  the  Crown, 
inconsistent  with  supremacy  of  Parliament,  incon- 
sistent with  the  immemorial  relations  of  all  colonies 
to  the  country  they  sprang  from,  — and  she  set  her- 
self to  abridge  it.  We  answered  with  great  submis- 
sion that  we  did  not  honestly  think  that  we  had 
brought  or  had  found  much  more  than  half  liberty 
enough ; and  we  braced  ourselves  to  keep  what  we 
had,  and  obtain  more  when  we  could ; — and  so, 
with  one  kind  of  weapon  or  another,  on  one  field 
or  another,  on  one  class  of  questions  or  another,  a 
struggle  was  kept  up  from  the  landing  at  Plymouth 
to  the  surrender  at  Yorktown.  It  was  all  one  single 
struggle  from  beginning  to  end ; the  parties,  the  ob- 
jects, the  principles,  are  the  same  ; — one  sharp,  long, 
glorious,  triumphant  struggle  for  liberty.  The  topics, 
the  heads  of  dispute,  various  from  reign  to  reign ; 
but,  though  the  subjects  were  various,  the  question 
was  one,  — shall  the  colonists  be  free,  or  shall  they  be 
slaves  ? 

And  that  question  was  pronounced  by  everybod}^ 
understood  by  everybody,  debated  by  everybody,  — 
in  the  colonial  assemblies ; by  the  clergy  on  the  days 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  53 


of  thanksgiving,  on  fast-days,  and  qnarterly  fast- 
days  ; and  by  the  agents  of  the  colonies  in  England  ; 
and  at  last,  and  more  and  more,  throngh  the  press. 
I say  nothing  here  of  the  effect  of  such  a contro- 
versy so  long  continued,  in  sharpening  the  faculties 
of  the  colonists,  in  making  them  acute,  prompt,  in- 
genious, full  of  resource,  familiar  with  the  grounds 
of  their  liberties,  their  history,  revolutions,  extent, 
nature,  and  the  best  methods  of  defending  them 
argumentatively.  These  were  important  effects  ; but 
I rather  choose  to  ask  yon  to  consider  how  the  love  of 
liberty  would  be  inflamed  ; how  ardent,  jealous,  irre- 
sistible it  would  be  made  ; with  what  new  and  wdiat 
exaggerated  value  even,  it  would  learn  to  invest  its 
object,  by  being  thus  obliged  to  struggle  so  unceas- 
ingly to  preserve  it ; and  by  coming  so  many  times 
so  near  to  lose  it ; and  by  being  thus  obliged  to  bear 
it  away  like  another  Palladium,  at  the  hazard  of 
blindness,  from  the  flames  of  its  temple  which  would 
have  consumed  it,  — across  seas  gaping  wide  to 
swalloAv  it  up,  — through  serried  ranks  of  armed 
men  who  had  marked  it  for  a prey. 

There  was  one  time  during  this  long  contest  when 
it  might  have  seemed  to  any  race  of  men  less  resoh-ed 
than  our  fathers,  that  liberty  had  at  last  returned 
from  earth  to  the  heavens  from  which  she  descended. 
A few  years  before  1688  — the  j^ear  of  the  glorious 
revolution  in  England  — the  British  king  succeeded, 
after  a struggle  of  more  than  half  a century,  in 
wrestinof  from  Massachusetts  her  first  charter.  From 
that  time,  or  rather  from  December,  1685,  to  April, 
1689,  the  government  of  all  New  England  was  an 
undisguised  and  intolerable  despotism.  A governor. 


54  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


Sir  Edmund  Andros,  — not  chosen  by  the  people  as 
every  former  governor  had  been,  but  appointed  by 
James  II.,  — worth}'^  to  serve  such  a master,  — and  a 
few  members,  less  than  the  majority,  of  the  council, 
also  appointed  by  the  king,  and  very  fit  to  advise 
such  a governor,  grasped  and  held  the  whole  civil 
power.  And  they  exercised  it  in  the  very  spuit  of 
the  worst  of  the  Stuarts.  The  old,  known  body  of 
colonial  laws  and  customs  which  had  been  adopted 
by  the  people,  was  silently  and  totally  abolished. 
New  laws  were  made;  taxes  assessed;  an  administra- 
tion all  new  and  all  vexatious  was  introduced,  not  by 
the  people  in  general  court,  but  by  the  governor  and 
a small,  low  faction  of  his  council,  in  whose  election 
they  had  no  vote  ; over  whose  proceedings  they  had 
no  control ; to  whom  their  rights  and  interests  and 
lives  were  all  as  nothing  compared  with  the  lightest 
wish  of  the  Papist  and  tyrant  James  whom  they 
served.  A majority  of  the  council,  although  ap- 
pointed by  the  king,  wore  yet  true  hearts  of  New 
England  in  their  bosoms,  and  resisted  with  all  their 
might  the  tyranny  which  the  government  was  rivet- 
ing upon  her.  One  of  these.  Major  Samuel  Appleton, 
was  an  inhabitant  of  Ipswich,  a son  of  one  of  the 
earliest  settlers  of  the  town,  the  ancestor  of  a long 
line  of  learned,  energetic,  and  most  respectable 
descendants.  He  had  the  high  honor  to  be  arrested 
in  October,  1689,  by  Andros  and  his  faction  in  the 
council,  as  being  a factious  member  of  the  board  and 
disaffected  to  the  government,  and  was  obliged  to 
give  bonds  in  the  sum  of  ^GIOOO  to  be  of  good  po- 
litical behavior.  But  the  efforts  of  this  gentle- 
man, and  of  such  as  he  in  the  council,  could  avail 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  55 


uothing;  and  the  arbitrary  tyranny  of  the  creat- 
ures of  the  Stuarts  became  the  only  government  of 
Massachusetts. 

In  this  the  darkest  day  that  New  England  ever 
saw,  it  is  grateful  to  pause  and  commemorate  an  act 
of  this  town  of  Ipswich  which  deserves,  I think,  an 
honorable  place  in  the  universal  history  of  liberty. 
Sir  Edmund  Andros  and  his  faction  had,  without  the 
intention  of  the  colonial  legislature,  or  any  repre- 
sentatives of  the  people,  made  a decree  imposing  a 
State  tax  on  the  i)eople,  against  that  fundamental 
principle  of  liberty,  that  the  people  alone  can  tax 
themselves.  They  had  assessed  in  several  towns 
quotas  of  it,  and  had  commanded  them  to  choose 
each  a commissioner,  who,  with  the  boards  of  the 
selectmen,  should  assess  the  quota  of  the  town  on  its 
inhabitants  and  estates  respectively.  A meeting  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Ipswich  was  warned  to  be  holden 
on  the  23d  August,  1687,  to  choose  a commissioner  to 
aid  the  selectmen  in  assessing  the  tax.  The  evening 
before  the  meeting  the  Rev.  John  Wise,  the  minister 
of  the  parish  now  Essex,  a learned,  able,  resolute,  and 
honest  man,  — worthy  to  preach  to  the  cliildren  of 
Puritans,  — Robert  Kinsman,  William  Goodhue,  Jr., 
and  several  other  principal  inhabitd,nt3  of  Ipswich, 
held  a preparatory  caucus  at  the  house  of  John 
Appleton,  brother  of  Major  Samuel  Appleton,  which 
stood,  or  stands,  on  the  road  to  Topsfield,  and  there 
“ discoursed,  and  concluded  that  it  was  not  the  town’s 
duty  any  way  to  assist  that  z7l  method  of  raising 
money  without  a general  assembly.”  The  next  day 
they  attended  the  town-meeting,  and  Mr.  Wise  made  a 
speech,  enforcing  this  opinion  of  his  friends,  and  said, 


56  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


“ We  have  a good  God,  and  a good  king,  and  should 
do  well  to  stand  on  our  privileges.”  And  by  their 
privileges  they  concluded  to  stand.  I cannot  read 
the  simple,  manly,  and  noble  vote  of  Ipswich  on  that 
day  without  a thrill  of  pride,  — that  then,  when  the 
hearts  of  the  jDious  and  brave  children  in  Massachu- 
setts seemed  almost  sunk  within  them,  — our  charter 
gone,  James  Stuart  the  Second  on  the  throne,  (I 
suspect  it  was  irony  or  policy  of  Mr.  Wise  to  call 
him  a good  king) — just  when  the  long-cherished, 
long-dreaded  design  of  the  English  Crown  to  reduce 
the  colonies  into  immediate  dependence  on  itself,  and 
to  give  them,  unconcealed,  slavery  for  substantial  free- 
dom, seemed  about  to  be  consummated,  — that  we 
here  and  then,  with  full  knowledge  of  the  power  and 
temper  of  Andros  and  his  council,  dared  to  assert 
and  to  spread  out  upon  our  humble  record  the  great 
principle  of  English  liberty  and  of  the  American 
Revolution.  The  record  declares  “ that  considering 
the  said  act  ” (referring  to  the  order  of  the  governor 
and  council  imposing  the  tax)  “ doth  infringe  their 
liberty  as  free-horn  Eiiglish  subjects  of  His  Majesty, 
and  by  interfering  with  the  statute  laws  of  the  land 
by  which  it  was  enacted  that  no  taxes  should  be 
levied  upon  the  subjects  without  the  consent  of  an 
assembly  chosen  by  the  free  men  for  assessing  the 
same,  — they  do,  therefore,  vote  that  they  are  not 
willing  to  choose  a commissioner  for  such  an  end 
without  such  a privilege  ; — and  they,  moreover,  con- 
sent not  that  the  selectmen  do  proceed  to  levy  any 
such  rate,  until  it  be  appointed  by  a general  assembly, 
concurring  with  the  Governor  and  Council.” 

For  the  share  they  had  taken  in  the  proceedings 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  57 


of  that  memorable  clay,  Mr.  Wise  and  five  others, 
probably  those  who  met  with  him,  and  Mr.  Appleton 
himself,  were  arrested,  by  order  of  the  Governor,  as 
for  a contempt  and  misdemeanor,  and  carried  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  count}",  imprisoned  in  jail  at  Boston, 
denied  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  tried  by  a packed 
jury  — principally  strangers  and  foreigners,  I rejoice 
to  read  — and  a subservient  court,  and  of  course 
found  guilty.  They  Avere  all  fined  more  or  less 
heavily,  from  £15  to  £50,  compelled  to  enter  into 
bonds  of  from  £500  to  £1000  each  to  keep  the  peace, 
and  Mr.  Wise  was  suspended  from  the  ministerial 
function,  and  the  others  disqualified  to  bear  office. 

The  whole  expense  of  time  and  money  to  which 
they  were  subjected  was  estimated  to  exceed  £400, — 
a sum  equivalent  to  perhaps  15000  of  our  money,  — 
enough  to  build  the  Ipswich  part  of  Warner’s  Bridge 
more  than  three  times  over ; which  the  town  shortly 
after  nobly  and  justly,  yet  gratuitously,  refunded  to 
the  sufferers. 

These  men,  says  Pitkin,  who  is  not  remarkable  for 
enthusiasm,  may  justly  claim  a distinguished  rank 
among  the  patriots  of  America.  You,  their  towns- 
men — their  children  — may  Avell  be  proud  of  them  ; 
prouder  still,  but  more  grateful  than  proud,  that  a 
full  town-meeting  of  the  freemen  of  Ipswich  adopted 
unanimously  that  declaration  of  right,  and  refused  to 
collect  or  pay  the  tax  which  would  have  made  them 
slaves.  The  principle  of  that  vote  was  precisely  the 
same  on  which  Hampden  resisted  an  imposition  of 
Charles  I.,  and  on  which  Samuel  Adams  and  Hancock 
and  Warren  resisted  the  Stamp  Act,  — the  principle 
that  if  any  power  but  the  people  can  tax  the  people, 
there  is  an  end  of  liberty. 


58  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

The  later  and  more  showy  spectacles  and  brighter 
glories  and  visible  results  of  the  age  of  the  Revolu- 
tion have  elsewhere  cast  into  the  shade  and  almost 
covered  with  oblivion  the  actors  on  that  interesting 
day,  and  the  act  itself,  — its  hazards,  its  intrepidity, 
its  merits,  its  singularity  and  consequences.  But 
you  will  remember  them,  and  teach  them  to  your 
children.  Tlie  graves  of  those  plain,  venerable,  and 
sturdy  men  of  the  old,  old  time,  who  thus  set  their 
lives  on  the  hazard  of  a die  for  the  perishing  liberties 
of  Massachusetts  ; the  site  of  the  house  where  they 
assembled  — they,  the  fathers  of  the  town  — the  day 
before  the  meeting,  to  consider  what  advice  they 
shoidd  give  to  their  children  in  that  great  crisis,  so 
full  of  responsibility  and  danger ; the  spot  on  which 
that  building  stood  where  the  meeting  was  holden 
and  the  declaration  recorded,  — these  are  among 
you  yet ; your  honor,  your  treasure,  the  memorials 
and  incentives  of  virtue  and  patriotism  and  courage, 
which  feared  God  and  knew  no  other  fear ! Go 
sometimes  to  those  graves,  and  give  an  hour  of  the 
summer  evening  to  the  brave  and  pious  dead.  Go 
there,  and  thank  God  for  pouring  out  upon  them  the 
spirit  of  liberty,  and  humbly  ask  Him  to  transmit  it, 
as  it  breathed  in  them,  them  children,  and  their  chil- 
dren’s children,  to  the  thousandth  generation  ! 

I have  said  part  of  what  I intended  of  one  trait 
in  the  character  of  our  fathers  of  the  revolutionary 
age,  — their  spirit  of  liberty.  But  something  more 
than  the  love  of  liberty  is  needful  to  fit  a people  for 
the  enjoyment  of  it.  Other  men,  other  nations,  have 
loved  liberty  as  well  as  oi;r  fathers.  The  sentiment 
is  innate,  and  it  is  indestructible,  and  immortal. 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OE  NEW  ENGLAND.  59 


Tet  of  the  wide-spread  families  of  the  earth,  in  the 
long  procession  of  the  generations,  that  stretches 
backward  to  the  hii'th  of  the  world,  how  few  have 
been  free  at  all ; how  few  have  been  long  free  ; how 
imperfect  was  their  liberty  wliile  they  possessed  it ; 
how  speedil}^  it  flitted  away  ; how  hard  to  woo  it  to 
return  ! In  all  Asia  and  Africa  — continents  whose 
population  is  more  than  four  sevenths  of  the  human 
race  on  earth,  whose  history  begins  ages  before  a ray 
of  the  original  civilization  of  the  East  had  reached 
to  Europe  — there  was  never  a free  nation.  And 
how  has  it  been  in  Europe,  that  proud  seat  of  power, 
art,  civilization,  enterprise,  and  mind?  Alas  for  the 
destiny  of  social  man  ! Here  and  there  in  ancient 
and  in  later  times,  in  Greece,  in  Eome,  in  Venice,  in 
France,  men  have  called  on  the  Goddess  of  Liberty 
in  a passionate  and  ignorant  idolatry  ; they  have  em- 
bodied her  angelical  brightness  and  unclouded  seren- 
ity in  marble  ; they  have  performed  dazzling  actions, 
they  have  committed  great  crimes  in  her  name ; they 
have  built  for  her  the  altars  where  she  best  loves  to 
be  worshipped,  — republican  forms  of  government ; 
they  have  found  energy,  genius,  the  love_  of  glory, 
the  mad  dream  of  power  and  pride  in  her  inspiration. 
But  they  were  not  wise  enough,  they  were  not  vir- 
tuous enough  for  diffused,  steady,  lasting  freedom. 
Their  heads  were  not  strong  enough  to  bear  a 
draught  so  stimulating.  They  perished  of  raging 
fever,  kindled  by  drinking  of  the  very  waters  of 
social  life ! These  stars  one  after  another  burned 
out,  and  fell  from  their  throne  on  high  ! 

England  guarded  by  the  sea ; Holland  behind  her 
dikes ; a dozen  Swiss  Cantons  breathing  the  difficult 


60  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

air  of  the  iced  mountain  tops, — these,  in  spite  of 
levolutions,  all  were  free  governments.  And  in  the 
whole  of  the  Old  World  there  was  not  another. 
The  love  of  liberty  there  was ; but  a government 
founded  in  liberty  there  was  not  one  besides.  Some 
things  other  than  the  love  of  freedom  are  needful  to 
form  a great  and  free  nation.  Let  us  go  farther 
then,  and  observe  the  wisdom  and  prudence  by 
which,  after  a long  and  painful  process,  our  fathers 
were  prepared,  in  mind  and  heart,  for  the  permanent 
possession,  tempered  enjoyment,  and  true  use  of  that 
freedom,  the  love  of  which  was  rooted  in  their  souls ; 
the  process  by  which,  in  the  words  of  Milton,  they 
were  made  into  a “ right  pious,  right  honest,  right 
holy  nation,”  as  well  as  a nation  loving  liberty.  In 
running  over  that  process,  I am  inclined  to  attach 
the  most  importance  to  the  fact  that  they  who 
planted  New  England,  and  all  the  generations  of 
successors,  to  the  war  of  Independence,  were  engaged 
in  a succession  of  the  severest  and  gravest  trials  and 
labors  and  difficulties  which  ever  tasked  the  spirit  of 
a man  or  a nation. 

It  has  been  said  that  there  was  never  a great  char- 
acter, — never  a truly  strong,  masculine,  command- 
ing character,  — which  was  not  made  so  l)y  successive 
struggles  with  great  difficulties.  Such  is  the  general 
rule  of  the  moral  world,  undoubtedly.  All  history, 
all  biography,  verify  and  illustrate  it,  and  none  more 
remarkably  than  our  own. 

It  has  seemed  to  me  probable  that  if  the  Puritans, 
on  their  arrival  here,  had  found  a home  like  that 
they  left,  and  a social  system  made  ready  for  them,  — 
if  they  had  found  the  forest  felled,  roads  constructed, 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


61 


rivers  bridged,  fields  sown,  houses  built,  a rich  soil,  a 
bright  sun,  and  a balmy  air,  — if  they  had  come  into 
a country  which  for  a hundred  and  fifty  years  was 
never  to  hear  the  war-whoop  of  a savage,  or  the  tap 
of  a French  drum,  — if  they  had  found  a common- 
wealth civil  and  religious,  a jurisprudence,  a system 
of  police,  administration,  and  policy,  all  to  their 
hands,  churches  scattered,  districts,  parishes,  towns, 
and  counties,  widening  one  around  the  other,  — if 
England  had  covered  over  their  infancy  with  her 
mighty  wing,  spared  charters,  widened  trade,  and 
knit  child  to  mother  by  parental  policy,  — it  is  prob- 
able that  that  impulse  of  high  mind,  and  that  un- 
conquerable constancy  of  the  first  emigrants,  might 
have  subsided  before  the  epoch  of  the  drama  of  the 
Revolution.  Their  children  might  have  grown  light, 
luxurious,  vain,  and  the  sacred  fire  of  liberty,  cher- 
ished by  the  fathers  in  the  times  of  the  Tudors  and 
Stuarts,  might  have  died  away  in  the  hearts  of  a 
feeble  posterity. 

Ours  was  a different  destiny.  I do  not  mean  to 
say  that  the  whole  Colonial  Age  was  a scene  of  uni- 
versal and  constant  suffering  and  labor,  and  that 
there  was  no  repose  ; of  peril  pressing  at  every  turn, 
and  every  moment,  on  everybody.  But  in  its  gen- 
eral course  it  was  a time  of  suffering  and  of  priva- 
tion, of  poverty  or  mediocrity  of  fortune,  of  sleepless 
nights,  grave  duties,  serious  aims ; and  I say  it  was 
a trial  better  fitted  to  train  up  a nation  “ in  true 
wisdom,  virtue,  magnanimity,  and  the  likeness  of 
God,”  — better  fitted  to  form  temperate  habits,  strong 
character,  resolute  spirits,  and  all  the  radiant  train 
of  public  and  private  virtues  which  stand  before  the 


62  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


stars  of  the  throne  of  liberty,  — than  any  similar 
period  in  the  history  of  any  nation,  or  of  any  but 
one,  that  ever  existed. 

Some  seasons  there  were  of  sufferings  so  sharp  and 
strange,  that  they  might  seem  designed  to  test  the 
energy  of  Puritan  principles.  Such  was  the  summer 
and  winter  after  Governor  Winthrop’s  arrival  in  New 
England,  1670-1671.  Such  the  winter  and  spring 
after  the  arrival  of  the  Puritans  at  Plymouth,  1620- 
1621.  The}’- wasted  away  — young  and  old  of  the 
little  flock  ^ of  consumption  and  fever  of  lungs ; 
the  living  scarcely  able  to  bury  the  dead ; the  well 
not  enough  to  tend  the  sick  ; men  who  landed  a few 
weeks  before  in  full  strength,  their  bones  moistened 
with  marrow,  were  seen  to  stagger  and  fall  from 
faintness  for  want  of  food.  In  a country  abounding 
in  secret  springs,  they  perished  for  want  of  a draught 
of  good  water.  Childhood  drooped  and  died  away, 
like  a field-flower  turned  up  by  the  ploughshare. 
Old  age  was  glad  to  gather  himself  to  his  last  sleep. 
Some  sank  down,  broken-hearted,  by  the  graves  of 
beloved  wives  and  sons.  Of  the  whole  one  hundred 
and  one  who  landed  at  Plymouth,  there  were  once 
only  seven  able  to  render  assistance  to  the  dying  and 
the  sick. 

A brilliant  English  writer,  speaking  of  the  Jews, 
exclaims,  with  surprise  and  indignation,  that  even  a 
desert  did  not  make  them  wise.  Our  fathers,  let  me 
say,  not  vaingloriously,  were  readier  learned  of  wis- 
dom. Their  sufferings  chastened,  purified,  and  ele- 
vated them  ; and  led  them  to  repose  their  weary  and 
stricken  spirits  upon  the  strength  which  upholds  the 
world.  Thus  to  be  afflicted,  thus  to  profit  by  afflic- 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  63 


tion,  is  good  for  a nation  as  it  is  good  for  a man. 
To  neither  is  it  joyous,  but  grievous  ; to  both  it  is  all 
made  up  over  and  over  again  by  a more  exceeding- 
weight  of  glory. 

Look  now,  passing  from  the  sufferings,  to  the 
gigantic  labors  of  our  Colonial  Age,  and  calculate 
their  influence  on  those  who  performed  them. 

The  first  great  work  of  the  earlier  generations  of 
New  England  was  to  reclaim  the  countr}',  to  fit  it 
for  the  sustentation  of  life  from  day  to  day,  from 
season  to  season,  and  thus  to  become  the  abode  of  an 
intellectual  and  social  civilization  advancing  indefi- 
nitely. This  is  the  first  great  work  of  all  nations, 
who  begin  their  existence  in  a country  not  before  the 
residence  of  cultivated  man.  The  nature  of  this 
work,  — the  ease  and  difficulty  of  performing  it  de- 
pending of  course  on  the  great  natural  characteristics 
of  the  region,  — its  fertility,  its  even  or  uneven  sur- 
face, the  quality,  as  well  as  the  abundance  or  scarcity 
of  its  products,  the  brightness  and  dryness,  or  gloom 
and  moisture  of  its  skies,  its  cold  or  hot  temperature, 
and  the  like,  — the  nature  of  this  first  and  severest 
of  the  herculean  labors  of  nations,  perhaps  quite  as 
much  as  any  other  cause,  perhaps  as  much  as  all 
other  causes,  affects  the  moral  and  mental  character 
and  habits  of  the  people  which  have  it  to  do.  It  has 
been  maintained,  and  with  great  ingenuity,  that  the 
whole  subsequent  career  of  a nation  has  taken 
impulse  and  direction  from  the  circumstances  of 
physical  condition  in  which  it  came  first  into  life. 
The  children  of  the  luxurious  East  opened  their  eyes 
on  plains  whose  fertility 'a  thousand  harvests  could 


64  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

not  exhaust,  renewing  itself  perpetually  from  the 
bounty  of  a prodigal  nature,  beneath  bright  suns,  in 
a warm,  balmy  air,  which  floated  around  them  like 
music  and  perfumes  from  revels  on  the  hanks  of 
rivers  by  moonlight.  “ Every  blast  shook  spices 
from  the  leaves,  and  eveiy  month  dropped  fruits 
upon  the  ground.”  “ The  blessings  of  nature  were 
collected,  and  its  evils  extracted  and  excluded.” 
Hence  the  immemorial  character  of  a part  of  the 
tribes  of  Asia.  They  became  indolent,  effeminate, 
and  timorous.  Steeped  in  sensual  enjoyments,  the 
mind  slept  with  the  body ; or  if  it  awoke,  unlike 
the  reasoning,  speculative,  curious,  and  energetic 
intellect  of  Europe,  it  reposed  in  reverie  ; it  diffused 
itself  in  long  contemplation,  musing  rather  than 
thinking,  reading  human  destiny  in  the  stars,  but 
making  no  effort  to  comprehend  the  system  of  the 
world.  Life  itself  there  is  but  a fine  dream  ; and 
death  is  only  a scattering  of  the  garlands,  a hush- 
ing of  the  music,  a putting  out  of  the  lights  of  a mid- 
summer night’s  feast.  You  would  not  look  there  for 
freedom,  for  morality,  for  true  religion,  for  serious 
reflections. 

The  destiny  of  the  most  of  Europe  was  different. 
Vast  forests  covering  half  a continent,  rapid  and 
broad  rivers,  cold  winds,  long  winters,  large  tracts 
unsusceptible  of  cultivation,  snow-clad  mountains  on 
whose  tops  the  lightning  plays  impassive,  — this  was 
the  world  that  fell  to  their  lot.  And  hence  partly, 
that  race  is  active,  laborious,  curious,  intellectual, 
full  of  energy,  tending  to  freedom,  destined  to  free- 
dom, but  not  yet  all  free. 

I cannot  now  pause  to  qualify  this  view,  and  make 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


65 


the  requisite  discriminations  between  the  different 
States  of  that  quarter  of  the  world. 

To  the  tempest-tossed  and  weather-beaten,  yet 
sanguine  and  enthusiastic  spirits  who  came  hither, 
Kew  England  hardly  presented  herself  at  first  in  all 
that  ruggedness  and  sternest  wildness  which  nature 
has  impressed  indelibly  upon  her.  But  a few  sum- 
mers and  winters  revealed  the  whole  truth.  They 
had  come  to  a country  fresh  from  the  hand  of  nature, 
almost  as  on  the  day  of  creation,  covered  with  prime- 
val woods,  which  concealed  a soil  not  very  fruitful 
and  hearing  only  the  hardier  and  coarser  grains  and 
grasses,  broken  into  rocky  hills  and  mountains  send- 
ing their  gray  summits  to  the  skies,  the  upland 
levels,  with  here  and  there  a strip  of  interval  along 
a pleasant  river,  and  a patch  of  salt-marsh  by  the 
side  of  the  sea,  — a country  possessing  and  producing 
neither  gold,  nor  diamonds,  nor  pearls,  nor  spices, 
nor  opium,  nor  bread-fruit,  nor  silks,  nor  the  true 
vine,  — to  a long  and  cold  winter,  an  uncertain 
spring,  a burning  summer,  and  autumn  with  his 
fleecy  clouds  and  bland  south-west,  red  and  yellow 
leaf  and  insidious  disease ; — such  was  the  ungenial 
heaven  beneath  which  their  lot  was  cast ; such  was 
New  England,  yielding  nothing  to  idleness,  nothing 
to  luxury,  but  yet  holding  out  to  faith  and  patience 
and  labor,  freedom  and  skill,  and  public  and  private 
virtue,  — holding  out  to  these  the  promise  of  a latter 
day  afar  off,  of  glory  and  honor  and  rational  and 
sober  enjoyment.  Such  was  the  country  in  which 
the  rugged  infancy  of  New  England  was  raised. 
Such  was  the  country  which  the  Puritans  were  ap- 
pointed to  transpose  into  a meet  residence  of  refine- 


66  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


ment  and  liberty.  You  know  how  they  performed 
that  duty.  Your  fathers  have  told  you.  From  this 
hill,  westward  and  southward,  and  eastward  and 
northward,  your  eyes  may  see  how  they  performed 
it.  The  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  were  glad 
for  them,  and  the  desert  rejoiced  and  blossomed  as 
the  rose.  The  land  was  a desolate  wilderness  before 
them ; behind  them,  as  the  garden  of  Eden.  How 
glorious  a triumph  of  patience,  energy,  perseverance, 
intelligence,  and  faith  ! And  then  how  powerfully 
and  in  how  many  ways  must  the  fatigues,  privations, 
interruptions,  and  steady  advance  and  ultimate  com- 
pletion of  that  long  day’s  work  have  reacted  on  the 
character  and  the  mind  of  those  who  performed  it ! 
How  could  such  a people  ever  again,  if  ever  they 
had  been,  be  idle,  or  frivolous,  or  giddy,  or  luxurious  ! 
With  what  a resistless  accession  of  momentum  must 
they  turn  to  every  new,  manly,  honest,  and  worthy 
labor  ! How  truly  must  they  love  the  land  for  which 
they  had  done  so  much ! How  ardently  must  they 
desire  to  see  it  covered  over  with  the  beauty  of  holi- 
ness and  the  gloiw  of  freedom  as  with  a garment ! 
With  what  a just  and  manly  self-approbation  must 
they  look  back  on  such  labors  and  such  success  ; and 
how  great  will  such  pride  make  any  people  ! 

There  was  another  great  work,  different  from  this, 
and  more  difficult,  more  glorious,  more  improving, 
which  they  had  to  do,  and  that  was  to  establish  their 
system  of  colonial  government,  to  frame  their  code 
of  internal  law,  and  to  administer  the  vast  and  per- 
plexing political  business  of  the  colonies  in  their 
novel  and  trying  relations  to  England,  through  the 
whole  Colonial  Age.  Of  all  their  labors  this  was  the 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  67 


grandest,  the  most  intellectual,  the  best  calculated 
to  fit  them  for  independence.  Consider  how  much 
patient  thought,  how  much  observation  of  man  and 
life,  how  much  sagacity,  how  much  communication 
of  mind  with  mind,  how  many  general  councils,  plots, 
and  marshalling  of  affairs,  how  much  slow  accumula- 
tion, how  much  careful  transmission  of  wisdom,  that 
labor  demanded.  And  what  a school  of  civil  capacity 
this  must  have  proved  to  them  who  partook  in  it ! 
Hence,  I think,  the  sober,  rational,  and  practical 
views  and  conduct  which  distinguished  even  the 
first  fervid  years  of  the  Revolutionary  age.  How 
little  giddiness,  rant,  and  foolery  do  you  see  there ! 
No  riotous  and  shouting  processions,  — no  grand 
festivals  of  the  goddess  of  reason,  — no  impious 
dream  of  human  perfectibility,  — no  unloosing  of  the 
hoarded-up  passions  of  ages  from  the  restraints  of 
law,  order,  morality,  and  religion,  such  as  shamed 
and  frightened  away  the  new-born  liberty  of  revolu- 
tionary France.  Hence  our  victories  of  peace  were 
more  brilliant,  more  beneficial,  than  our  victories  of 
war.  Hence  those  fair,  I hope  everlasting,  monu- 
ments of  civil  wisdom,  our  State  and  Federal  Con- 
stitutions. Hence  the  coolness,  the  practised  facility, 
the  splendid  success,  with  which  they  took  up  and 
held  the  whip  and  reins  of  the  fiery  chariot  flying 
through  the  zodiac,  after  the  first  driver  had  been 
stricken  by  the  thunder  from  his  seat. 

Do  you  not  think  it  was  a merciful  appointment 
that  OUT  fathers  did  not  come  to  the  possession  of 
independence,  and  the  more  perfect  freedom  which 
it  brought  with  it,  as  to  a great  prize  drawn  in  a lot- 
tery, — an  independent  fortune  left  unexpectedly  by 


68  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


the  death  of  a distant  relative  of  whom  they  had 
never  heard  before,  — a mine  of  gold  opened  just 
below  the  surface  on  the  side  of  the  hill  by  a flash 
of  lightning?  If  they  had,  it  would  have  turned 
their  heads  or  corrupted  their  habits.  They  were 
rather  in  the  condition  of  one  of  the  husbandmen  of 
old  Ipswich,  a little  turned  of  one-and-twenty,  who 
has  just  paid  off  the  last  legacy,  or  the  last  gage  upon 
the  estate  left  him  by  his  father,  — an  estate  where 
his  childhood  played  with  brothers  and  sisters  now 
resting  in  early  graves,  in  which  the  first  little  labors 
of  his  young  hands  were  done,  from  which  he  can 
see  the  meeting-house  spire  above  the  old  interven- 
ing elms,  to  which  his  own  toil,  mingled  with  that  of 
his  ancestors  of  many  generations,  has  given  all  its 
value,  which,  before  he  had  owned,  he  had  learned 
how  to  keep,  how  to  till,  how  to  transmit  to  his  heirs 
enlarged  and  enriched  with  a more  scientific  and 
tasteful  cultivation. 

I can  only  allude  to  one  other  labor,  one  other 
trial  of  the  Colonial  Age, — the  wars  in  which  for 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years  our  fathers  were  every 
moment  engaged,  or  to  which  they  were  every  mo- 
ment exposed,  and  leave  you  to  estimate  the  influ- 
ence which  these  must  have  had  on  the  mind  and 
character,  and  at  last  on  the  grand  destinies  of  New 
England  and  of  North  America. 

It  is  dreadful  that  nations  must  learn  war;  but 
since  they  must,  it  is  a mercy  to  be  taught  it  season- 
ably and  thoroughly.  It  had  been  appointed  by  the 
Infinite  Disposer,  that  the  liberties,  the  independence 
of  the  States  of  America  should  depend  on  the  man- 
ner in  which  we  should  fight  for  them ; and  who  can 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  69 


imagine  what  the  issue  of  the  awful  experiment 
would  have  been,  had  they  never  before  seen  the 
gleam  of  an  enemy’s  bayonets,  or  heard  the  beat  of 
his  drum? 

I hold  it  to  have  been  a great  thing,  in  the  first 
place,  that  we  had  among  us,  at  that  awful  moment 
when  the  public  mind  was  meditating  the  question 
of  submission  to  the  tea-tax,  or  resistance  by  arms, 
and  at  the  more  awful  moment  of  the  first  appeal  to 
arms,  — that  we  had  some  among  us  who  personally 
knew  what  war  was.  Washington,  Putnam,  Stark, 
Gates,  Prescott,  Montgomery,  were  soldiers  already. 
So  were  hundreds  of  others  of  humbler  rank,  but 
not  yet  forgotten  by  the  people  whom  they  helped 
to  save,  who  mustered  to  the  camp  of  our  first  revo- 
lutionary armies.  These  all  had  tasted  a soldier’s 
life.  They  had  seen  fire,  they  had  felt  the  thrilling 
sensations,  the  quickened  flow  of  blood  to  and  from 
the  heart,  the  mingled  apprehension  and  hope,  the 
hot  haste,  the  burning  thirst,  the  feverish  rapture  of 
battle,  winch  he  who  has  not  felt  is  unconscious  of 
one  half  of  the  capacities  and  energies  of  his  nature, 
which  he  who  has  felt,  I am  told,  never  forgets. 
They  had  slept  in  the  woods  on  the  withered  leaves 
or  the  snow,  and  awoke  to  breakfast  upon  birch  bark 
and  the  tender  tops  of  willow  trees.  They  had  kept 
guard  on  the  outposts  on  many  a stormy  night,  know- 
ing perfectly  that  the  thicket  half  a pistol-shot  olf 
was  full  of  French  and  Indian  riflemen. 

I say  it  was  something  that  we  had  such  men 
among  us.  They  helped  discipline  our  raw  first 
levies.  They  knew  what  an  army  is,  and  what  it 
needs,  and  how  to  provide  '^or  it.  They  could  take 


70  THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


that  young  volunteer  of  sixteen  by  the  hand,  sent  by 
an  Ipswich  mother,  who,  after  looking  upon  her  son 
equipped  for  battle  from  which  he  might  not  return, 
Spartan-like,  bid  him  go  and  behave  like  a man  — 
and  many,  many  such  shouldered  a musket  for  Lex- 
ington and  Bunker  Hill  — and  assure  him,  from  their 
own  personal  knowledge,  that  after  the  first  fire  he 
never  would  know  fear  again,  even  that  of  the  last 
onset.  But  the  long  and  peculiar  wars  of  New  Eng- 
land had  done  more  than  to  furnish  a few  such 
officers  and  soldiers  as  these.  They  had  formed  that 
public  sentiment  upon  the  subject  of  war  which 
reunited  all  the  armies,  fought  all  the  battles,  and 
won  all  the  glory  of  the  Revolution.  The  truth  is 
that  war,  in  some  form  or  another,  had  been,  from 
the  first,  one  of  the  usages,  one  of  the  habits,  of 
colonial  life.  It  had  been  felt,  from  the  first,  to  be 
just  as  necessary  as  planting  or  reaping,  — to  be  as 
likely  to  break  out  every  day  and  every  night  as  a 
thunder-shower  in  summer,  and  to  break  out  as  sud- 
denly. There  have  been  nations  who  boasted  that 
their  rivers  or  mountains  never  saw  the  smoke  of  an 
enemy’s  camp.  Here  the  war-whoop  awoke  the 
sleep  of  the  cradle ; it  startled  the  dying  man  on  his 
pillow  ; it  summoned  young  and  old  from  the  meet- 
ing-house, from  the  burial,  and  from  the  bridal  cere- 
mony, to  the  strife  of  death.  The  consequence  was, 
that  that  steady,  composed,  and  reflecting  courage 
which  belongs  to  all  the  English  race  grew  into  a 
leading  characteristic  of  New  England  ; and  a public 
sentiment  was  formed,  pervading  young  and  old,  and 
both  sexes,  which  declared  it  lawful,  necessary,  and 
honorable  to  risk  life,  and  to  shed  blood  for  a great 


THE  COLOISHAL  AGE  OE  NEW  ENGLAND.  71 


Cause,  — for  our  family,  for  our  fires,  for  our  God, 
for  our  country,  for  our  religion.  In  such  a cause  it 
declared  that  the  voice  of  God  Himself  commanded 
to  the  field.  The  courage  of  New  England  was  the 
“ courage  of  conscience.”  It  did  not  rise  to  that 
insane  and  awful  passion,  — the  love  of  war  for 
itself.  It  would  not  have  hurried  her  sons  to  the 
Nile,  or  the  foot  of  the  pyramids,  or  across  the  great 
raging  sea  of  snows  which  rolled  from  Smolensko  to 
Moscow,  to  set  the  stars  of  glory  upon  the  glowing 
brow  of  ambition.  But  it  was  a courage  which  at 
Lexington,  at  Bunker  Hill,  at  Bennington,  and  at 
Saratoga,  had  power  to  brace  the  spirit  for  the  pa- 
triots’ fight,  — and  gloriously  roll  back  the  tide  of 
menaced  war  from  their  homes,  the  soil  of  their 
birth,  the  graves  of  their  fathers,  and  the  everlasting 
hills  of  their  freedom. 

But  I cannot  any  farther  pursue  this  sketch  of  the 
life  which  tasked  the  youthful  spirit  of  New  Eng- 
land. Other  labors  there  were  to  be  done ; other 
trials  to  pass  through  ; other  influences  to  discipline 
them  and  make  them  fit  for  the  rest  which  remains 
to  the  heirs  of  liberty. 

“ So  true  it  is  — for  such  holy  rest, 

Strong  hands  must  toil  — strong  hearts  endure.” 

It  was  a people  thus  schooled  to  the  love  and  at- 
tainments and  championship  of  freedom  — its  season 
of  infant  helplessness  now  long  past,  the  strength 
and  generosity  and  fire  of  a mighty  youth  moving 
its  limbs,  and  burning  in  its  eye  — a people,  whose 
bright  spirit  had  been  fed  midst  the  crowned  heights, 
with  hope  and  liberty  and  thoughts  of  power  — this 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


i-Z 


was  the  people  whom  our  Revolution  summoned  to 
the  grandest  destiny  in  the  history  of  nations.  They 
were  summoned,  and  a choice  put  before  them : 
slavery,  with  present  ease  and  rest  and  enjoyment, 
but  all  inglorious  — the  death  of  the  nation’s  soul ; 
and  liberty,  with  battle  and  bloodshed,  but  the  spring 
of  all  national  good,  of  art,  of  plenty,  of  genius. 
Liberty  born  of  the  skies  ! breathing  of  all  their 
odors,  and  radiant  with  all  their  hues ! They  were 
In'dden  to  choose,  and  they  chose  wisely  and  greatly. 


“ They  linked  their  hands  — they  pledged  their  stainless  faith 
In  the  dread  presence  of  attesting  Heaven  — 

They  bound  their  hearts  to  sufferings  and  death 
With  the  severe  and  solemn  transport  given 
To  bless  such  vows.  How  man  had  striven, 

How  man  might  strive,  and  vainly  strive  they  knew. 

And  called  upon  their  God. 

They  knelt,  and  rose  in  strength.” 


I have  no  need  to  tell  you  the  story  of  the  Revo- 
lution, if  the  occasion  were  to  justify  it.  Some  of 
you  shared  in  its  strife  ; for  to  that,  as  to  every  other 
great  duty,  Ipswich  was  more  than  equal.  Some 
who  have  not  yet  tasted  of  death,  some  perhaps 
even  now  here,  and  others  who  have  followed  or 
who  went  before  their  illustrious  La  Fayette.  All  of 
you  jDartake  of  its  fruits.  All  of  you  are  encom- 
passed about  by  its  glory ! 

But  now  that  our  service  of  commemoration  is 
ended,  let  us  go  hence  and  meditate  on  all  that  it  has 
taught  us.  You  see  how  long  the  holy  and  beautiful 
city  of  our  liberty  and  our  power  has  been  in  build- 
ing, and  by  how  many  hands,  and  at  what  cost.  You 
see  the  towering  and  steadfast  height  to  which  it  has 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  73 


gone  up,  and  how  its  turrets  and  spires  gleam  in  the 
rising  and  setting  sun.  You  stand  among  the  graves 
of  some  — your  townsmen,  your  fathers  by  blood, 
whose  names  you  bear,  whose  portraits  hang  up  in 
your  homes,  of  whose  memory  you  are  justly  proud  — 
who  helped  in  their  day  to  sink  those  walls  deep  in 
their  beds,  where  neither  frost  nor  earthquake  might 
heave  them,  — to  raise  aloft  those  great  arches  of 
stone,  — to  send  up  those  turrets  and  spires  into  the 
sk3n  It  was  theirs  to  build  ; remember  it  is  j^oui’s, 
under  Providence,  to  keep  the  city,  — to  keep  it 
from  the  sword  of  the  invader,  — to  keep  it  from 
licentiousness  and  crime  and  irreligion,  and  all  that 
would  make  it  unsafe  or  unfit  to  live  in,  — to  keep 
it  from  the  fires  of  faction,  of  civil  strife,  of  party 
spirit,  that  might  burn  up  in  a da^'  the  slow  work 
of  a thousand  ^'ears  of  glor^-.  Happ\%  if  we  shall 
so  perform  our  duty  that  they  who  centuries  hence 
shall  dwell  among  our  graves  may  be  able  to  re- 
member, on  some  such  day  as  this,  in  one  common 
service  of  grateful  commemoration,  their  fathers  of 
the  first  and  of  the  second  age  of  America,  — those 
who  through  martjTdom  and  tempest  and  battle 
sought  liberty,  and  made  her  their  own,  — and  those 
whom  neither  ease  nor  luxury,  nor  the  fear  of  man, 
nor  the  worship  of  man,  could  prevail  on  to  barter 
her  away ! 


74 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS  THE  HEROIC 
PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY: 

AN  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  IN  NEW  YORK  BEFORE  THE  NEW 
ENGLAND  ASSOCIATION,  DECEMBER,  1843. 


We  meet  again,  the  children  of  the  Pilgrims,  to  re- 
member our  fathers.  Away  from  the  scenes  with 
which  the  American  portions  of  their  history  are 
associated  for  ever,  and  in  all  men’s  minds,  — scenes 
so  unadorned,  yet  clothed  to  the  moral  eye  with  a 
charm  above  the  sphere  of  taste:  the  uncrumbled 
rock,  the  hill  from  whose  side  those  “ delicate  springs  ” 
are  still  gushing,  the  wide,  brown,  low  woods,  the 
sheltered  liarbor,  the  little  island  that  welcomed  them 
in  their  frozen  garments  from  the  sea,  and  witnessed 
the  rest  and  worship  of  that  Sabbath-day  before  their 
landing,  — away  from  all  those  scenes,  — without  the 
limits  of  the  fond  old  colony  that  keeps  their  graves, 
without  the  limits  of  the  New  England  which  is  their 
wider  burial  place  and  fitter  monument,  — in  the 
heart  of  this  chief  city  of  the  nation  into  which  the 
feeble  land  has  grown,  — we  meet  again,  to  repeat 
their  names  one  by  one,  to  retrace  the  lines  of  their 
cliaracter,  to  recall  the  lineaments  and  forms  over 
which  the  grave  has  no  power,  to  appreciate  their 
virtues,  to  recount  the  course  df  their  life  full  of 
heroic  deeds,  varied  by  sharpest  trials,  crowned  by 


THE  HEEOIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  75 


traDscendent  consequences,  to  assert  the  directness  of 
our  descent  from  such  an  ancestry  of  goodness  and 
greatness,  to  erect,  refresh,  and  touch  our  spirits  by 
coming  for  an  hour  into  their  more  immediate  pres- 
ence, such  as  they  were  in  the  days  of  their  human 
“ agony  of  glory.”  The  two  centuries  which  inter- 
pose to  hide  them  from  our  eye,  centuries  so  brilliant 
with  progress,  so  crowded  by  incidents,  so  fertile  in 
accumulations,  dissolve  away  for  the  moment  as  a 
curtain  of  clouds,  and  we  are  once  more  by  their  side. 
The  grand  and  pathetic  series  of  their  story  unrolls 
itself  around  us,  vivid  as  if  with  the  life  of  yesterday. 
All  the  stages,  all  the  agents,  of  the  process  by  which 
they  and  the  extraordinary  class  they  belonged  to 
were  slowly  formed  from  the  general  mind  and  char- 
acter of  England  ; the  influence  of  the  age  of  the  Ref- 
ormation, with  which  the  whole  Christian  world  was 
astir  to  its  profoundest  depths  and  outermost  limits, 
but  which  was  poured  out  unbounded  and  peculiar 
on  them,  its  children,  its  impersonation ; that  various 
persecution  prolonged  through  two  hundred  years  and 
twelve  reigns,  from  the  time  of  the  preaching  of 
Wickliffe,  to  the  accession  of  James  I.,  from  which 
they  gathered  sadly  so  many  precious  fruits,  — a 
large  measure  of  tenderness  of  conscience,  the  sense 
of  duty,  force  of  will,  trust  in  God,  the  love  of  truth, 
and  the  spirit  of  liberty ; the  successive  development 
and  growth  of  opinions  and  traits  and  determinations 
and  fortunes  by  which  they  were  advanced  from 
Protestants  to  Republicans,  from  Englishmen  to  Pil- 
grims, from  Pilgrims  to  the  formders  of  a free  Church, 
and  the  fathers  of  a free  people  in  a new  world ; the 
•retirement  to  Holland ; the  resolution  to  seek  the 


76 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGKIMS 


sphere  of  their  duties  and  the  asylum  of  their  rights 
beyond  the  sea  ; the  embarkation  at  DeKt  Haven,  — 
that  scene  of  interest  unrivalled,  onwliich  a pencil  of 
your  own  has  just  enabled  us  to  look  back  with  tears, 
praise,  and  sympathy,  and  the  fond  pride  of  children  ; 
that  scene  of  few  and  simple  incidents,  just  the  set- 
ting out  of  a handful  of  not  then  very  famous  persons 
on  a voyage,  — quite  the  commonest  of  occurrences, 
— but  which  dilates  as  you  gaze  on  it,  and  speaks  to 
you  as  with  the  voices  of  an  immortal  song ; which 
becomes  idealized  into  the  auspicious  going  forth  of  a 
colony,  whose  planting  has  changed  the  history  of  the 
world,  — a noble  colony  of  devout  Christians,  edu- 
cated and  firm  men,  valiant  soldiers,  and  honorable 
women ; a colony  on  the  commencement  of  whose 
heroic  enterprise  the  selectest  influences  of  religion 
seemed  to  be  descending  visibljq  and  beyond  whose 
perilous  path  are  hung  the  rainbow  and  the  westward 
star  of  empire ; the  voyage  of  The  Mayflower ; the  land- 
ing ; the  slow  winter’s  night  of  disease  and  famine  in 
which  so  many,  the  good,  the  beautiful,  the  brave,  sunk 
down  and  died,  giving  place  at  last  to  the  spring- 
dawn  of  health  and  plenty ; the  meeting  with  the  old 
red  race  on  the  hill  beyond  the  brook ; the  treaty  of 
peace  unbroken  for  half  a century ; the  organization 
of  a republican  government  in  The  Mayflower  cabin  ; 
the  planting  of  these  kindred  and  coeval  and  auxiliar 
institutions  without  which  such  a government  can  no 
more  live  than  the  uprooted  tree  can  put  forth  leaf 
or  flower, — institutions  to  diffuse  pure  religion  ; good 
learning  ; austere  morality  ; the  practical  arts  of  ad- 
ministration ; labor,  patience,  obedience  ; “ plain  liv- 
ing and  high  thinking ; ” the  securities  of  conservatism ; 


THE  HEEOIC  PERIOD  OE  OUR  HISTORY.  77 


the  germs  of  progress ; the  laying  deep  and  sure,  far 
down  on  the  rock  of  ages,  of  the  foundation  stones 
of  the  imperial  structure,  whose  dome  now  swells 
towards  heaven ; the  timely  death  at  last,  one  after 
another,  of  the  first  generation  of  the  original  Jhl- 
grims,  not  unvisited,  as  the  final  hour  drew  nigh,  by 
visions  of  the  more  visible  glory  of  a latter  day,  — 
all  these  high,  holy,  and  beautiful  things  come  throng- 
ing fresh  on  all  our  memories,  beneath  the  influence 
of  the  hour.  Such  as  we  heard  them  from  our 
mothers’  lips,  such  as  we  read  them  in  the  histories 
of  kings,  of  religions,  and  of  liberty,  they  gather 
themselves  about  us ; familiar,  certainly,  but  of  an 
interest  that  can  never  die,  — an  interest  intrinsical 
in  themselves,  yet  heightened  inexpressibly  by  their 
relations  to  that  eventful  future  into  which  they  have 
expanded,  and  through  whose  lights  they  show. 

And  yet,  with  all  this  procession  of  events  and 
persons  moving  before  us,  and  solicited  this  way  and 
that  by  the  innumerable  trains  of  speculation  and  of 
feeling  which  such  a sight  inspires,  we  can  think 
of  nothing  and  of  nobody,  here  and  now,  but  the 
Pilgrims  themselves.  I cannot,  and  do  not,  wish 
for  a moment  to  forget  that  it  is  their  festival  we  have 
come  to  keep.  It  is  their  tabernacles  we  have  come  to 
build.  It  is  not  the  Reformation,  it  is  not  colonization, 
it  is  not  ourselves,  our  present  or  our  future,  it  is  not 
political  economy  or  political  philosophy,  of  which  to- 
day you  would  have  me  say  a word.  We  have  a 
specific  and  single  duty  to  perform.  We  would  speak 
of  certain  valiant,  good,  and  peculiar  men,  our  fathers. 
We  would  wipe  the  dust  from  a few  old,  plain,  noble 
urns.  We  would  shun  husky  disquisitions,  irrelevant 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


novelties,  and  small  display ; would  recall  rather  and 
merely  the  forms  and  lineaments  of  the  heroic  dead, 
— forms  and  features  which  the  grave  has  not  changed, 
over  which  the  grave  has  no  power. 

The  Pilgrims,  then,  of  the  first  generation,  just  as 
they  landed  on  the  rock,  are  the  topic  of  the  hour. 
And  in  order  to  insure  some  degree  of  unity,  and  of 
definiteness  of  aim,  and  of  impression,  let  me  still 
more  precisely  propound  as  the  subject  of  our 
thoughts,  the  Pilgrims,  their  age  and  their  acts,  as 
constituting  a real  and  a true  heroic  period ; one 
heroic  period  in  the  history  of  this  Republic. 

I regard  it  as  a great  thing  for  a nation  to  be  able, 
as  it  passes  through  one  sign  after  another  of  its 
zodiac  pathway,  in  prosperity,  in  adversity,  and  at 
all  times,  — to  be  able  to  look  to  an  authentic  race  of 
founders,  and  a historical  principle  of  institution,  in 
which  it  may  rationally  admire  the  realized  idea  of 
true  heroism.  Whether  it  looks  back  in  the  morning 
or  evening  of  its  day  ; whether  it  looks  back,  as  now 
we  do,  in  the  emulous  fervor  of  its  youth,  or  in  the 
full  strength  of  manhood,  its  breasts  full  of  milk,  its 
bones  moistened  with  marrow  ; or  in  dotage  and  faint- 
ness, the  silver  cord  of  union  loosened,  the  golden 
bowl  of  fame  and  power  broken  at  the  fountain ; 
from  the  era  of  Pericles  or  the  era  of  Plutarch,  — it 
is  a great  and  precious  thing  to  be  able  to  ascend  to, 
and  to  repose  its  strenuous  or  its  wearied  virtue 
upon,  a heroic  age  and  a heroic  race,  which  it  may 
not  falsely  call  its  own.  I mean  by  a heroic  age  and 
race,  not  exclusively  or  necessarily  the  earliest  na- 
tional age  and  race,  but  one,  the  course  of  whose 
history  and  the  traits  of  whose  character,  and  the 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY 


79 


extent  and  permanence  of  whose  influences,  are  of  a 
kind  and  power  not  merely  to  be  recognized  in  after 
time  as  respectable  or  useful,  but  of  a kind  and  a 
power  to  kindle  and  feed  the  moral  imagination,  move 
the  capacious  heart,  and  justify  the  intelligent  won- 
der of  the  world.  I mean  by  a nation’s  heroic  age  a 
time  distinguished  above  others,  not  by  chronological 
relation  alone,  but  by  a concurrence  of  grand  and  im- 
pressive agencies  with  large  results,  — by  some  splen- 
did and  remarkable  triumph  of  man  over  some  great 
enemy,  some  great  evil,  some  great  labor,  some 
great  danger,  — by  uncommon  examples  of  the  rarer 
virtues  and  qualities,  tried  by  an  exigency  that  oc- 
curs only  at  the  beginning  of  new  epochs,  the  ascen- 
sion of  new  dynasties  of  dominion  or  liberty,  when 
the  great  bell  of  time  sounds  out  another  hour.  I 
mean  an  age  when  extraordinary  traits  are  seen,  an 
age  performing  memorable  deeds  whereby  a whole 
people,  whole  generations,  are  made  different  and 
made  better.  I mean  an  age  and  race  to  which  the 
arts  may  go  back,  and  find  real  historical  forms  and 
groups,  wearing  the  port  and  grace,  and  going  on  the 
errand  of  demi-gods,  — an  age  far  off,  on  whose 
moral  landscape  the  poet’s  eye  may  light,  and  repro- 
duce a grandeur  and  beauty  stately  and  eternal, 
transcending  that  of  ocean  in  storm  or  at  peace,  or 
of  mountains,  staying  as  with  a charm  the  morning 
star  in  his  steep  course,  or  the  twilight  of  a sum- 
mer’s day,  or  voice  of  solemn  bird,  — an  age  “doc- 
trinal and  exemplary,”  from  whose  personages,  and 
from  whose  actions,  the  orator  may  bring  away  an 
incident  or  a thought  that  shall  kindle  a fire  in  ten 
thousand  hearts,  as  on  altars  to  their  country’s  glory 


80 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


and  to  which  the  discouraged  teachers  of  patriotism 
and  morality  to  corrupted  and  expiring  States  may 
resort  for  examples  how  to  live  and  how  to  die. 

You  see,  then,  that  certain  peculiar  conditions  and 
elements  must  meet  to  make  a heroic  period  and  a 
heroic  race.  You  might  call,  without  violence,  the 
men  who  brought  on  and  went  through  the  war  of 
Independence,  or  fell  on  the  high  places  of  its  fields, 
— you  might  call  them  and  their  times  heroic.  But 
you  would  not  so  describe  the  half-dozen  years  from 
the  peace  to  the  Constitution,  nor  the  wise  men  who 
framed  that  writing,  nor  the  particular  generation 
that  had  the  sagacity  and  the  tone  to  adopt  it.  Yet 
was  this  a grander  achievement  than  many  a York- 
town,  many  a Saratoga,  many  a Eutaw  Springs ; and 
this,  too,  in  some  just  sense  was  the  beginning  of  a 
national  experience.  To  justify  the  application  of 
this  epithet,  there  must  be  in  it  somewhat  in  the 
general  character  of  a period,  and  the  character  and 
fortunes  of  its  actors,  to  warm  the  imagination  and 
to  touch  the  heart.  There  must,  therefore,  be  some 
of  the  impressive  forms  of  danger  there  ; there  must 
be  the  reality  of  suffering,  borne  with  the  dignity  of 
an  unvanquished  soul ; there  must  be  pity  and  terror 
in  the  epic,  as  in  the  tragic  volume  ; there  must  be  a 
great  cause,  acting  on  a conspicuous  stage,  or  swell- 
ing towards  an  imperial  consummation ; some  great 
interest  of  humanity  must  be  pleading  there  on  fields 
of  battle,  or  in  the  desert,  or  on  the  sea ! 

When  these  constituents,  or  such  as  these,  concur, 
there  is  a heroic  time  and  race.  Other  things  are  of 
small  account.  It  may  be  an  age  of  rude  manners. 
Prominent  men  may  cook  their  own  suppers,  like 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  81 


Achilles,  yet  how  many  millions  of  imaginations, 
besides  Alexander’s,  have  trembled  at  his  anger, 
shuddered  at  his  revenge,  sorrowed  with  his  griefs, 
kindled  with  his  passion  of  glory,  melted  as  he  turns 
gently  and  kindly  from  the  tears  of  Priam,  childless, 
or  bereaved  of  his  dearest  and  bravest  by  his  un- 
matched arm  ! — divine  faces,  like  that  of  Rose  Stand- 
ish  in  the  picture,  may  look  out,  as  hers  there  does, 
not  from  the  worst  possible  head-dress  ; men  may 
have  worn  steeple-crowned  hats,  and  long,  peculiar 
beards ; they  may  have  been  austere,  formal,  intol- 
erant ; they  may  have  themselves  possessed  not  one 
ray  of  fancy,  not  one  emotion  of  taste,  not  one  sus- 
ceptibility to  the  grace  and  sublimity  that  there  are 
in  nature  and  genius ; yet  may  their  own  lives  and 
deaths  have  been  a whole  Iliad  in  action,  grander, 
sweeter,  of  more  mournful  pathos,  of  more  purifying 
influences,  than  any  thing  yet  sung  by  old  or  modern 
bard,  in  hall  or  bower.  See,  then,  if  we  can  find  any 
of  the  constituents  of  such  a period  in  the  character, 
time,  and  fortunes  of  the  Pilgrims. 

“ Plantations,”  says  Lord  Bacon,  “ are  amongst 
ancient,  primitive,  and  heroical  works.”  But  he  is 
thinking  of  plantations  as  they  are  the  king’s  works, 
like  parks  or  palaces,  or  solemn  temples,  or  steadfast 
pyramids,  as  they  show  forth  the  royal  mind,  and 
heighten  the  royal  glory.  We  are  to  seek  the  hero- 
ical ingredient  in  the  planter  himself,  in  the  ends 
for  which  he  set  forth,  the  difficulties  with  wliich  he 
contended,  the  triumphs  which  he  won,  the  teeming 
harvest  sprung  from  seed  sown  with  his  tears.  And 
we  shall  find  it  there. 

It  would  be  interesting,  if  it  were  possible,  which 
6 


82 


THE  AGE  OF  TILE  PILGEIMS 


it  is  not,  to  pause  for  a moment  first,  and  survey  the 
old  English  Puritan  character,  of  which  the  Pilgrims 
were  a variety.  Turn  to  the  class  of  which  they 
were  part,  and  consider  it  well  for  a minute  in  all 
its  aspects.  I see  in  it  an  extraordinary  mental  and 
moral  phenomenon.  Many  more  graceful  and  more 
winning  forms  of  the  human  nature  there  have  been, 
and  are,  and  shall  be.  Many  men,  many  races,  there 
are,  have  been,  and  shall  be,  of  more  genial  disposi- 
tions, more  tasteful  accomplishment,  a quicker  eye 
for  the  beautifid  of  art  and  nature ; less  disagree- 
ably absorbed,  less  gloomily  careful  and  troubled 
about  the  mighty  interests  of  the  spiritual  being  or 
of  the  commonwealth ; wearing  a more  decorated 
armor  in  battle ; contributing  more  wit,  more  song, 
and  heartier  potations  to  the  garland  feast  of  life. 
But  where,  in  the  long  series  of  ages  that  furnish  the 
matter  of  history,  was  there  ever  one — where  one 
— better  fitted  by  the  possession  of  the  highest  traits 
of  man,  to  do  the  noblest  work  of  man,  — better 
fitted  to  consummate  and  establish  the  Reformation, 
save  the  English  constitution  at  its  last  gasp  from 
the  fate  of  all  other  European  constitutions,  and  pre- 
pare, on  the  granite  and  iced  mountain-summits  of 
the  New  World,  a still  safer  rest,  for  a still  better 
liberty  ? 

I can  still  less  pause  to  trace  the  history  of  these 
men  as  a body,  or  even  to  enumerate  the  succession 
of  influences  — the  spirit  of  the  Reformation  within, 
two  hundred  years  of  civil  and  spiritual  tyranny 
without  — which,  between  the  preaching  of  Wick- 
liffe  and  the  accession  of  James  L,  had  elaborated 
them  out  of  the  general  mind  of  England ; had  at- 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  83 


tracted  to  their  ranks  so  much  of  what  was  wisest 
and  best  of  their  nation  and  time  ; had  cut  and 
burned,  as  it  were,  into  their  natures  the  iron  quality 
of  the  higher  heroism,  — and  so  accomplished  them 
for  their  great  work  there  and  here.  The  whole 
story  of  the  cause  and  the  effect  is  told  in  one  of 
their  own  illustrations  a little  expanded : “ Puritan- 
ism was  planted  in  the  region  of  storms,  and  there 
it  grew.  Swayed  this  way  and  that  by  a whirlwind 
of  blasts  all  adverse,  it  sent  down  its  roots  below 
frost,  or  drought,  or  the  bed  of  the  avalanche  ; its 
trunk  went  up,  erect,  gnarled,  seamed,  not  riven  by 
the  bolt ; the  evergreen  enfolded  its  branches  ; its 
blossom  was  like  to  that  ‘ ensanguined  flower  in- 
scribed with  woe.’  ” 

One  influence  there  was,  however,  I would  mark, 
whose  permanent  and  various  agency  on  the  doctrines, 
the  character,  and  the  destinies  of  Puritanism,  is 
among  the  most  striking  things  in  the  whole  history 
of  opinion.  I mean  its  contact  with  the  republican 
reformers  of  the  continent,  and  particularly  with 
those  of  Geneva. 

In  all  its  stages,  certainly  down  to  the  peace  of 
Westphalia,  in  1648,  all  the  disciples  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, wherever  they  lived,  were  in  some  sense  a sin- 
gle brotherhood,  whom  diversity  of  speech,  hostility 
of  governments,  and  remoteness  of  place,  could  not 
wholly  keep  apart.  Local  persecutions  drew  the  tie 
closer.  In  the  reign  of  Mary,  from  1553  to  1558,  a 
thousand  learned  Englishmen  fled  from  the  stake  at 
home,  to  the  happier  states  of  continental  Protestant- 
ism. Of  these,  great  numbers  (I  know  not  how  many) 
came  to  Geneva.  There  they  awaited  the  death  of 


84 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


the  Queen ; and  then,  sooner  or  later,  but  in  the 
time  of  Elizabeth,  went  back  to  England. 

I ascribe  to  that  five  years  in  Geneva  an  influence 
which  has  changed  the  history  of  the  world.  I seem 
to  myself  to  trace  to  it,  as  an  influence  on  the  Eng- 
lish race,  a new  theology ; new  politics ; another 
tone  of  character ; the  opening  of  another  era  of 
time  and  of  liberty.  I seem  to  myself  to  trace  to  it 
the  great  civil  war  of  England  ; the  Republican  Con- 
stitution framed  in  the  cabin  of  The  Mayflower  ; the 
divinity  of  Jonathan  Edwards  ; the  battle  of  Bunker 
Hill ; the  Independence  of  America.  In  that  brief 
season,  English  Puritanism  was  changed  fundament- 
ally, and  for  ever.  Why  should  we  think  this  extraor- 
dinary ? There  are  times  when  whole  years  pass 
over  the  head  of  a man,  and  work  no  change  of  mind 
at  all.  There  are  others  again,  when,  in  an  hour, 
old  things  pass  away,  and  all  things  become  new! 
A verse  of  the  Bible ; a glorious  line  of  some  old 
poet,  dead  a thousand  years  before;  the  new-made 
grave  of  a child ; a friend  killed  by  a thunder-bolt ; 
some  single,  more  intolerable  pang  of  despised  love  ; 
some  more  intolerable  act  of  “ the  oppressor’s  wrong, 
the  proud  man’s  contumely ; ” a gleam  of  rarer  beauty 
on  a lake,  or  in  the  sky ; something  slighter  than  the 
fall  of  a leaf,  or  a bird’s  song  on  the  shore,  — trans- 
forms him  as  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  When, 
before  or  since,  in  the  history  of  the  world,  was  the 
human  character  subjected  to  an  accumulation  of 
agents  so  fitted  to  create  it  all  anew  as  those  which 
encompassed  the  English  exiles  at  Geneva  ? 

I do  not  make  much  account  in  this  of  the  mate- 
rial grandeur  and  beauty  which  burst  on  their  aston- 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY,  85 


ished  senses  there,  as  around  the  solitude  of  Patmos, 
— although  I cannot  say  that  I know,  or  that  any- 
body knows,  that  these  mountain  summits,  ascending, 
“•  from  their  silent  sea  of  pines,”  higher  than  the 
thunder  cloud,  reposing  among  their  encircling  stars, 
while  the  storm  sweeps  by  below,  before  which 
navies,  forests,  the  cathedral  tombs  of  kings,  go 
down,  all  on  fire  with  the  rising  and  descending 
glory  of  the  sun,  wearing  his  rays  as  a crown,  un- 
changed, unsealed ; the  contrasted  lake ; the  arrowy 
Rhone  and  all  his  kindred  torrents ; the  embosomed 
city,  — I cannot  say  that  these  things  have  no  power 
to  touch  and  fashion  the  nature  of  man.  I cannot 
say  that  in  the  leisure  of  exile  a cultivated  and  pious 
mind,  opened,  softened,  tinged  with  a long  sorrow, 
haunted  by  a brooding  apprehension,  perplexed  by 
mysterious  providences,  waiting  for  the  unravelling  of 
the  awful  drama  in  England,  — a mind,  if  such  there 
were,  like  Luther’s,  like  Milton’s,  like  Zwingle’s,  — 
might  not  find  itself  stayed  and  soothed,  and  carried 
upward,  at  some  evening  hour,  by  these  great  sym- 
bols of  a duration  without  an  end,  and  a throne 
above  the  sky,  I cannot  say  that  such  an  impression 
might  not  be  deepened  by  a renewed  view,  until 
the  outward  glory  reproduced  itself  in  the  inward 
strength  ; or  until 

“ The  dilating  soul,  enwrapt,  transfused. 

Into  the  mighty  vision  passing  there. 

As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  heaven.” 

Nobody  can  say  that. 

It  is  of  the  moral  agents  of  change  that  I would 
speak,  I pass  over  the  theology  which  they  learned 
there,  to  remark  on  the  politics  which  they  learned. 


86 


THE  AGE  OE  THE  PILGRIMS 


The  asylum  into  which  they  had  been  admitted,  the 
city  which  had  opened  its  arms  to  pious,  learned 
men,  banished  by  the  tyranny  of  an  English  throne 
and  an  English  hierarchy,  was  a republic.  In  the 
giant  hand  of  guardian  mountains,  on  the  banks  of 
a lake  lovelier  than  a dream  of  the  Fairy  Land,  in 
a valley  which  might  seem  hollowed  out  to  enclose 
the  last  home  of  liberty,  there  smiled  an  independ- 
ent, peaceful,  law-abiding,  well-governed,  and  pros- 
perous commonwealth.  There  was  a state  without 
king  or  nobles  ; there  was  a church  without  a bishop  ; 
there  was  a people  governed  by  grave  magistrates 
which  it  had  selected,  and  equal  laws  which  it  had 
framed.  And  to  the  eye  of  these  exiles,  bruised  and 
pierced  through  by  the  accumulated  oppressions  of 
a civil  and  spiritual  tyrannjq  to  whom  there  came 
tidings  every  day  from  England  that  another  victim 
had  been  struck  down,  on  whose  still  dear  home  in 
the  sea  every  day  a gloomier  shadow  seemed  to  fall 
from  the  frowning  heights  of  power,  was  not  that 
republic  the  brightest  image  in  the  whole  transcend- 
ent scene  ? Do  you  doubt  that  they  turned  from 
Alpine  beauty  and  Alpine  grandeur,  to  look  with  a 
loftier  emotion,  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  on 
the  serene,  unveiled  statue  of  classical  Liberty?  Do 
you  not  think  that  this  spectacle,  in  these  circum- 
stances, prompted  in  such  minds  pregnant  doubts, 
daring  hopes,  new  ideas,  thoughts  that  wake  to  per- 
ish never,  doubts,  hopes,  ideas,  thoughts,  of  which 
a new  age  is  born?  Was  it  not  then  and  there  that 
the  dream  of  republican  liberty  — a dream  to  be 
realized  somewhere,  perhaps  in  England,  perhaps  in 
some  region  of  the  Western  sun  — first  mingled  it- 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OE  OUR  HISTORY.  87 


self  with  the  general  impulses,  the  garnered  hopes, 
of  the  Reformation?  Was  that  dream  ever  let  go, 
down  to  the  morning  of  that  day  when  the  Pilgrims 
met  in  the  cabin  of  their  shattered  bark,  and  there, 
as  she  rose  full  on  the  stern  New  England  sea,  and 
the  voices  of  the  November  forest  rang  through  her 
torn  topmast  rigging,  subscribed  the  first  republican 
constitution  of  the  New  World?  I confess  myself 
of  the  opinion  of  those  who  trace  to  tins  spot  and 
that  time  the  Republicanism  of  the  Puritans.  I do 
not  suppose,  of  course,  that  they  went  back  Avith  the 
formal  design  to  change  the  gOA'ernment  of  Eng- 
land. The  contests  and  the  progress  of  seventy 
years  more  were  required  to  mature  and  realize  so 
vast  a conception  as  that.  I do  not  suppose,  either, 
that  learned  men  — students  of  antiquity,  the  read- 
ers of  Aristotle  and  Thucydides  and  Cicero,  the  con- 
temporaries of  Buchanan,  the  friends  of  his  friend, 
John  Knox  — needed  to  go  to  GeneA'a  to  acquire 
the  idea  of  a commonwealth.  But  there  they  saw 
the  problem  soNed.  Popular  government  was  pos- 
sible. The  ancient  prudence  and  the  modern,  the 
noble  and  free  genius  of  the  old  Paganism  and  the 
Christianity  of  the  Reformation,  law  and  liberty, 
might  be  harmoniously  blended  in  liA'ing  systems. 
This  experience  they  never  forgot. 

I confess,  too,  that  I loA’e  to  trace  the  pedigree  of 
our  transatlantic  liberty,  thus  backAA-ards  through 
SAAitzeiiand,  to  its  native  land  of  Greece.  I think 
this  the  true  line  of  succession,  doAAm  which  it  has 
been  transmitted.  There  was  a liberty  which  the 
Puritans  found,  kept,  and  improved  in  England. 
They  would  have  changed  it,  and  were  not  able. 


88 


THE  AGE  OE  THE  PILGKIMS 


But  that  was  a kind  which  admitted  and  demanded 
an  inequality  of  many ; a subordination  of  ranks ; a 
favored  eldest  son  ; the  ascending  orders  of  a hie- 
rarchy ; the  vast  and  constant  pressm’e  of  a super- 
incumbent crown.  It  was  the  liberty  of  feudalism. 
It  was  the  liberty  of  a limited  monarchy,  over- 
hung and  shaded  by  the  imposing  architecture  of 
great  antagonistic  elements  of  the  state.  Such 
was  not  the  form  of  liberty  which  our  fathers 
brought  with  them.  Allowing,  of  course,  for  that 
anomalous  tie  which  connected  them  with  the  Eng- 
lish crown  three  thousand  miles  off,  it  was  repub- 
lican freedom,  as  perfect  the  moment  they  stepped 
on  the  rock  as  it  is  to-day.  It  had  not  been  all 
born  in  the  woods  of  Germany;  by  the  Elbe  or 
Eyder ; or  the  plains  of  Runnymede.  It  was  the 
child  of  other  climes  and  days.  It  sprang  to  life  in 
Greece.  It  gilded  next  the  early  and  the  middle 
age  of  Italy.  It  then  reposed  in  the  hallowed  breast 
of  the  Alps.  It  descended  at  length  on  the  iron- 
bound  coast  of  New  England,  and  set  the  stars  of 
glory  there.  At  every  stage  of  its  course,  at  every 
reappearance,  it  was  guarded  by  some  new  security  ; 
it  was  embodied  in  some  new  element  of  order ; it 
was  fertile  in  some  larger  good ; it  glowed  with  a 
more  exceeding  beauty.  Speed  its  way  ; perfect  its 
nature  ! 

“Take,  Freedom  ! take  tliy  radiant  round. 

When  dimmed  revive,  wlien  lost  return. 

Till  not  a shrine  through  earth  be  found 
On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  burn.” 

Thus  were  laid  the  foundations  of  the  mind  and 
character  of  Puritanism.  Thus,  slowly,  by  the 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  89 


breath  of  the  spirit  of  the  age,  bj  the  influence  of 
undefiled  religion,  hy  freedom  of  the  soul,  by  much 
tribulation,  by  a wider  survey  of  man,  nature,  and 
human  life,  it  was  trained  to  its  work  of  securing 
and  improving  the  liberty  of  England,  and  giving 
to  America  a better  liberty  of  her  own.  Its  day 
over  and  its  duty  done,  it  was  resolved  into  its  ele- 
ments, and  disappeared  among  the  common  forms 
of  hnmanity,  apart  fi’om  which  it  had  acted  and 
suffered,  above  which  it  had  to  move,  out  of  which 
by  a long  process  it  had  been  elaborated.  Of  this 
stock  were  the  Pilgrim  Fathers.  They  came  of 
heroical  companionship.  Were  their  works  heroical? 

The  planting  of  a colony  in  a new  world,  which 
may  grow,  and  which  does  grow,  to  a great  nation, 
where  there  was  none  before,  is  intrinsically,  and 
in  the  judgment  of  the  world,  of  the  largest  order 
of  human  achievement.  Of  the  chief  of  men  are 
the  conditores  imperiorum.  To  found  a state  upon  a 
waste  earth,  wherein  great  numbers  of  human  beings 
majr  live  together,  and  in  successive  generations, 
socially  and  in  peace,  knit  to  one  another  by  the 
innumerous  ties,  light  as  air,  stronger  than  links 
of  iron,  which  compose  the  national  existence, — 
wherein  they  may  help  each  other,  and  be  helped  in 
bearing  the  various  lot  of  life,  — wherein  they  may 
enjoy  and  improve,  and  impart  and  heighten  enjoy- 
ment and  improvement,  — wherein  they  may  to- 
gether perform  the  great  social  labors,  may  reclaim 
and  decorate  the  earth,  may  disinter  the  treasures 
that  grow  beneath  its  surface,  may  invent  and  polish 
the  arts  of  usefulness  and  beauty,  may  perfect  the 
loftier  arts  of  virtue  and  empire,  open  and  work  the 


90 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGKIM3 


richer  mines  of  the  universal  youthful  heart  and 
intellect,  and  spread  out  a dwelling  for  the  Muse  on 
the  glittering  summits  of  Freedom,  — to  found  such 
a state  is  first  of  heroical  labors  and  heroical  glories. 
To  build  a pyramid  or  a harbor,  to  write  an  epic 
poem,  to  construct  a system  of  the  universe,  to  take 
a city,  are  great,  or  may  be,  but  far  less  than  this. 

He,  then,  who  sets  a colony  on  foot,  designs  a great 
work.  He  designs  all  the  good,  and  all  the  glory,  of 
which,  in  the  series  of  ages,  it  may  be  the  means ; 
and  he  shall  be  judged  more  by  the  lofty  ultimate 
aim  and  result  than  by  the  actual  instant  motive. 
You  may  well  admire,  therefore,  the  solemn  and 
adorned  plausibilities  of  the  colonizing  of  Rome  from 
Troy,  in  the  fiEneid ; though  the  leader  had  been 
burned  out  of  house  and  home,  and  could  not  choose 
but  go.  You  may  find  in  the  flight  of  the  female 
founder  of  the  gloomy  greatness  of  Carthage  a cer- 
tain epic  interest;  yet  was  she  running  from  the 
madness  of  her  husband,  to  save  her  life.  Emigra- 
tions from  our  stocked  communities  of  undeified  men 
and  women,  — emigrations  for  conquest,  for  gold,  for 
very  restlessness  of  spirit,  — if  they  grow  towards  an 
imperial  issue,  have  all  thus  a prescriptive  and  rec- 
og-nized  ingredient  of  heroism.  But  when  the  im- 
mediate  motive  is  as  grand  as  the  ultimate  hope  was 
lofty,  and  the  ultimate  success  splendid,  then,  to  use 
an  expression  of  Bacon’s,  “ the  music  is  fuller.” 

I distinguish,  then,  this  enterprise  of  our  fathers, 
in  the  first  place,  by  the  character  of  the  immediate 
motive. 

And  that  was,  first,  a sense  of  religious  duty. 
They  had  adopted  opinions  in  religion  which  they 


THE  HEKOIC  PERIOD  OP  OUR  HISTORY.  91 


fully  believed  they  ought  to  profess,  and  a mode  of 
public  worship  and  ordinances  which  they  fully 
believed  they  ought  to  observe.  They  could  not  do 
so  in  England  ; and  they  went  forth  — man,  woman, 
the  infant  at  the  breast — across  an  ocean  in  winter, 
to  hnd  a wilderness  where  they  could.  To  the  ex- 
tent of  this  motive,  therefore,  they  went  forth  to 
glorify  God,  and  by  obeying  his  written  will,  and  his 
will  unwritten,  but  uttered  in  the  voice  of  conscience 
concerning  the  chief  end  of  man. 

It  was  next  a thirst  for  freedom  from  unnecessary 
restraint,  which  is  tyranny,  — freedom  of  the  soul, 
freedom  of  thought,  a larger  measure  of  freedom  of 
life,  — a thirst  which  two  centuries  had  been  kindling, 
a thirst  which  must  be  slaked,  though  but  from  the 
mountain  torrent,  though  but  from  drops  falling  from 
the  thunder  cloud,  though  but  from  fountains  lone 
and  far,  and  guarded  as  the  diamond  of  the  desert. 

These  were  the  motives,  — the  sense  of  duty,  and 
the  spirit  of  liberty.  Great  sentiments,  great  in  man, 
in  nations,  “ pregnant  with  celestial  fire  ! ” — where- 
withal could  you  fashion  a people  for  the  contentions 
and  honors  and  uses  of  the  imperial  state  so  well  as 
by  exactly  these  ? To  what,  rather  than  these,  would 
you  wish  to  trace  up  the  first  beatings  of  the  nation’s 
heart  ? If,  from  the  whole  field  of  occasion  and 
motive,  you  could  have  selected  the  very  passion,  the 
very  chance,  which  should  begin  your  history,  the 
very  texture  and  pattern  and  hue  of  the  glory  which 
should  rest  on  its  first  days,  could  you  have  chosen 
so  well  ? The  sense  of  duty,  the  spirit  of  liberty,  not 
prompting  to  vanity  or  luxury  or  dishonest  fame,  to 
glare  or  clamor  or  hollow  circumstance  of  being. 


92 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


silent,  intense,  earnest,  of  force  to  walk  tlirough  the 
furnace  of  fire,  yea,  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  to  open  a path  amid  the  sea,  to  make  the 
wilderness  to  bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose,  to  turn 
back  half  a world  in  arms,  to  fill  the  amplest  meas- 
ure of  a nation’s  praise ! 

I am  glad,  then,  that  one  of  our  own  poets  could 
truly  say,  — 

“Nor  lure  of  conquest’s  meteor  beam. 

Nor  dazzling  mines  of  fancy’s  dream, 

Nor  wild  adventure’s  love  to  roam, 

Brought  from  their  fathers’  ancient  home. 

O’er  the  wide  sea,  the  Pilgrim  host  1” 

I should  be  glad  of  it,  if  I were  looking  back  to  the 
past  of  our  history  merely  for  the  moral  picturesque, 

— if  I were  looking  back  merely  to  find  splendid 
moral  scenery,  mountain  elevations,  falls  of  water 
watched  by  the  rainbow  of  sunlight  and  moonlight, 
colossal  forms,  memorable  deeds,  renown  and  grace 
that  could  not  die,  — if  I were  looking  merely  to  find 
materials  for  sculpture,  for  picture,  for  romance,  — 
subjects  for  the  ballad  by  which  childhood  shall  be  sung 
to  sleep,  subjects  for  the  higher  minstrelsy  that  may  fill 
the  eye  of  beauty  and  swell  the  bosom  of  manhood, 

— if  I were  looking  baek  for  these  alone,  I should  be 
glad  that  the  praise  is  true.  Even  to  such  an  eye, 
the  embarkation  of  the  Pilgrims  and  the  lone  path  of 
The  Mayflower  upon  the  “ astonished  sea  ” were  a 
grander  sight  than  navies  of  mightiest  admirals  seen 
beneath  the  lifted  clouds  of  battle  ; grander  than  the 
serried  ranks  of  armed  men  moving  by  tens  of  thou- 
sands to  the  music  of  an  unjust  glory.  If  you  take  to 
pieces  and  carefully  inspect  all  the  efforts,  all  the  situ- 
ations, of  that  moral  sublime  which  gleams  forth,  here 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  93 


and  there,  in  the  true  or  the  feigned  narrative  of  human 
things, — deaths  of  martyrs,  or  martyred  patriots,  or 
heroes  in  the  hour  of  victory,  revolutions,  reformations, 
self-sacrifices,  fields  lost  or  won, — you  will  find  nothing 
nobler  at  their  source  than  the  motives  and  the  hopes 
of  that  ever-memorable  voyage.  These  motives  and 
these  hopes  — the  sacred  sentiments  of  duty,  obe- 
dience to  the  will  of  God,  religious  trust,  and  the 
spirit  of  liberty  — have  inspired,  indeed,  all  the 
beautiful  and  all  the  grand  in  the  history  of  man. 
The  rest  is  commonplace.  “ The  rest  is  vanity ; the 
rest  is  crime.” 

I distinguished  this  enterprise  of  our  fathers,  next, 
by  certain  peculiarities  of  trial  which  it  encountered 
and  vanquished  on  the  shores  of  the  New  World. 
You  have  seen  the  noble  spring  of  character  and 
motive  from  which  the  current  of  our  national  for- 
tunes has  issued  forth.  You  can  look  around  you 
to-day,  and  see  into  how  broad  and  deep  a stream 
that  current  has  expanded ; what  beams  of  the  sun, 
stni  climbing  the  eastern  sky,  play  on  its  surface ; 
what  accumulations  of  costly  and  beautiful  things  it 
bears  along;  through  what  valley  of  happiness  and 
rest  it  rolls  towards  some  mightier  sea.  But  turn  for 
a moment  to  its  earlier  course. 

The  first  generation  of  the  Pilgrims  arrived  in 
1620.  I suppose  that  within  fifty  years  more  that 
generation  had  wholly  passed  away.  Certainly  its 
term  of  active  labor  and  responsible  care  had  been 
accomplished.  Looking  to  its  actual  achievements, 
our  first,  perhaps  our  final,  impulse  is,  not  to  pity,  but 
to  congratulate,  these  ancient  dead  on  the  felicity  and 
the  glory  of  their  lot  on  earth.  In  that  brief  time. 


94 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


not  the  full  age  of  man,  — in  the  years  of  nations,  in 
the  larger  cycles  of  the  race,  less  than  a moment,  — 
the  New  England  which  to-day  we  love,  to  which  our 
hearts  untravelled  go  back,  even  from  this  throne  of 
the  American  commercial  world,  — that  New  England, 
in  her  groundwork  and  essential  nature,  was  estab- 
lished for  ever  between  her  giant  mountains  and  her 
espoused  sea.  There  already — ay,  in  The  May- 
flower’s cabin,  before  they  set  foot  on  shore  — was 
representative  republican  government.  There  were 
the  congenial  institutions  and  sentiments  from  which 
such  government  imbibes  its  power  of  life.  There 
already,  side  by  side,  were  the  securities  of  conser- 
vatism and  the  germs  of  progress.  There  already 
were  the  congregational  church  and  the  free  school ; 
the  trial  by  jury ; the  statutes  of  distributions  ; just 
so  much  of  the  written  and  unwritten  reason  of  Eng- 
land as  might  fitly  compose  the  jurisprudence  of 
liberty.  By  a happy  accident,  or  instinct,  there  al- 
ready was  the  legalized  and  organized  town,  that 
seminary  and  central  point,  and  exemplification  of 
elementary  democracy.  Silently  adopted,  everywhere 
and  in  all  things  assumed,  penetrating  and  tingeing 
every  thing,  — the  church,  the  government,  law, 
education,  the  very  structure  of  the  mind  itself, — 
was  the  grand  doctrine,  that  all  men  are  born  equal 
and  born  free,  that  they  are  born  to  the  same  inher- 
itance exactly  of  chances  and  of  hopes ; that  every 
child,  on  every  bosom,  of  right  ought  to  be,  equall}'- 
with  every  other,  invited  and  stimulated,  by  every 
social  and  every  political  influence,  to  strive  for  the 
happiest  life,  the  largest  future,  the  most  conspicuous 
virtue,  the  fullest  mind,  the  brightest  wreath. 


THE  HEEOIC  PERIOD  OE  OTJE  HISTORY. 


95 


There  already  were  all,  or  the  chief  and  higher 
influences,  by  which  comes  the  heart  of  a nation. 
There  was  reverence  of  law,  — “Our  guardian  angel, 
and  our  avenging  flend.”  There  were  the  councils 
of  the  still  venerated  aged.  There  was  the  open 
Bible.  There  were  marriage,  baptism,  the  burial  of 
the  dead,  the  keeping  of  the  Sabbath-day,  the  purity 
of  a sister’s  love,  a mother’s  tears,  a father’s  careful 
brow.  All  these  there  had  been  provided  and  gar- 
nered up.  With  how  much  practical  sgjacity  they 
had  been  devised ; how  sldlfullj^  adapted  to  the 
nature  of  things  and  the  needs  of  men;  how  well 
the  principle  of  permanence  had  been  harmonized 
with  the  principle  of  progression  ; what  diffusiveness 
and  immortality  of  fame  they  will  insure,  — we  have 
lived  late  enough  to  know.  On  these  works,  legible 
afar  off,  cut  deep  beyond  the  tooth  of  time,  the  long 
procession  of  the  generations  shall  read  their  names. 

But  we  should  miss  the  grandest  and  most  salutary 
lesson  of  our  heroic  age,  we  should  miss  the  best 
proof  and  illustration  of  its  heroic  claims,  if  we 
should  permit  the  wisdom  with  which  that  genera- 
tion acted  to  hide  from  our  view  the  intensity  and 
dignity  with  which  they  suffered.  It  was  therefore 
that  I was  about  to  distinguish  this  enterprise,  in  the 
second  place,  by  certain  peculiarities  of  its  trials. 

The  general  fact  and  the  mournful  details  of  that 
extremity  of  suffering  which  marked  the  first  few 
years  from  the  arrival,  you  all  know.  It  is  not  these 
I design  to  repeat.  We  have  heard  from  our  mothers’ 
lips,  that,  although  no  man  or  woman  or  child  per- 
ished by  the  arrow,  mightier  enemies  encompassed 
them  at  the  very  water’s  edge.  Of  the  whole  num- 


96 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


ber  of  one  hundred,  one  half  landed  to  die  within  a 
year,  — almost  one  half  in  the  first  three  months,  — 
to  die  of  disease  brought  on  by  the  privations  and 
confinement  of  the  voj’age,  by  wading  to  the  land, 
by  insufficient  and  unfit  food  and  dress  and  habita- 
tion, — brought  on  thus,  but  rendered  mortal  by 
want  of  that  indispensable  and  easy  provision  which 
Christianity,  which  Civilization  everywhere  makes 
for  all  their  sick.  Once  seven  only  were  left  in 
health  and  strength  to  attend  on  the  others.  There 
and  thus  they  died.  “ In  a battle,”  said  the  admira- 
ble Robinson,  writing  from  Leyden  to  the  survivors 
in  the  June  after  they  landed,  — “in  a battle  it  is 
not  looked  for  but  that  divers  should  die ; it  is 
thought  well  for  a side,  if  it  get  the  victory,  though 
with  the  loss  of  divers,  if  not  too  many  or  too  great.” 
But  how  sore  a mortality  in  less  than  a year,  almost 
within  a fourth  of  that  time,  of  fifty  in  one  hundred  ! 

In  a late  visit  to  Pl5^mouth,  I sought  the  spot 
where  these  earlier  dead  were  buried.  It  was  on  a 
bank,  somewhat  elevated,  near,  fronting,  and  looking 
upon  the  waves, — symbol  of  what  life  had  been  to 
them,  — ascending  inland  behind  and  above  the  rock, 
— symbol  also  of  that  Rock  of  Ages  on  which  the 
dying  had  rested  in  the  final  hour.  As  the  Pilgrims 
found  these  localities,  you  might  stand  on  that  bank 
and  hear  the  restless  waters  chafe  and  melt  against 
that  steadfast  base ; the  unquiet  of  the  world  com- 
posing itself  at  the  portals  of  the  grave.  There  cer- 
tainly were  buried  the  first  governor,  and  Rose,  the 
wife  of  Miles  Stan  dish.  “ You  will  go  to  them,” 
wrote  Robinson  in  the  same  letter  from  which  I have 
quoted  ; “ but  they  shall  not  return  to  you.” 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  97 


When  this  sharp  calamity  had  abated,  and  before, 
came  famine.  “ I have  seen,”  said  Edward  Winslow, 
“ strong  men  staggering  through  faintness  for  want 
of  food.”  And  after  tliis,  and  during  all  this,  and 
for  years,  there  brooded  in  every  mind,  not  a weak 
fear,  but  an  intelligent  apprehension,  that  at  any  in- 
stant— at  midnight,  at  noonday,  at  the  baptism,  at 
the  burial,  in  the  hour  of  prayer  — a foe  more  cruel 
than  the  grave  might  blast  in  an  hour  that  which 
disease  and  want  had  so  hardly  let  live.  How  they 
bore  all  this,  you  also  know.  One  fact  suffices. 
When  in  April  The  Mayflower  sailed  for  England, 
not  one  Pilgrim  was  found  to  go. 

The  peculiarity  which  has  seemed  to  me  to  distin- 
guish these  trials  of  the  Pilgrim  Age  from  those, 
from  the  chief  of  those,  which  the  general  voice  of 
literature  has  concurred  to  glorify  as  the  trials  of 
heroism ; the  peculiarity  which  gives  to  these,  and 
such  as  these,  the  attributes  of  a truer  heroism,  is 
this,  — that  they  had  to  meet  them  on  what  was  then 
an  humble,  obscure,  and  distant  stage ; with  no  nu- 
merous audience  to  look  on  and  applaud,  and  cast 
its  wreaths  on  the  fainting  brow  of  him  whose  life 
was  rushing  with  his  blood,  and  unsustained  by  a 
single  one  of  those  stronger  and  more  stimulating 
and  impulsive  passions  and  aims  and  sentiments, 
which  carrj'  a soldier  to  his  grave  of  honor  as  joyfully 
as  to  the  bridal  bed.  Where  were  the  Pilgrims  while 
in  this  furnace  of  afiliction  ? Who  saw  and  cared  for 
them?  A hundred  persons,  understood  to  be  Lol- 
lards, or  Precisians,  or  Puritans,  or  Brownists,  had 
sailed  away  some  three  thousand  miles,  to  arrive  on 
a winter’s  coast,  in  order  to  be  where  they  could 

7 


98 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


hear  a man  preach  without  a surplice ! That  was 
just  about  all,  England,  or  the  whole  world  of  civili- 
zation, at  first  knew,  or  troubled  itself  to  believe, 
about  the  matter.  If  every  one  had  died  of  lung 
fever,  or  starved  to  death,  or  fallen  by  the  tomahawk, 
that  first  winter,  and  The  Mayflower  had  carried 
the  news,  I wonder  how  many  of  even  the  best  in 
England  — the  accomplished,  the  beautiful,  the  dis- 
tinguished, the  wise  — would  have  heard  of  it.  A 
lieart,  or  more  than  one,  in  Leyden,  would  have 
broken ; and  that  had  been  all.  I wonder  if  King 
James  would  have  cried  as  heartily  as  in  the  “ For- 
tunes of  Nigel  ” he  does  in  anticipation  of  his  own 
death  and  the  sorrow  of  his  subjects  ! I wonder  what 
in  a later  day  the  author  of  “ Hudibras  ” and  the 
author  of  the  “ Hind  and  Panther  ” would  have 
found  to  say  about  it,  for  the  wits  of  Cliarles  the 
Second’s  court.  What  did  anybody  even  in  Puritan 
England  know  of  these  Pilgrims  ? Tliey  had  been 
fourteen  years  in  Holland ; English  Puritanism  was 
taking  care  of  itself ! They  were  alone  on  the  earth  ; 
and  there  they  stood  directly,  and  only,  in  their  great 
Taskmaster’s  eye.  Unlike  even  the  martyrs,  around 
whose  ascending  chariot- wheels  and  horses  of  fire, 
congregations  might  come  to  sympathize,  and  bold 
blasphemers  to  be  defied  and  stricken  with  awe,  — 
these  were  all  alone.  Those  two  ranges  of  small 
houses,  not  over  ten  in  all,  with  oil  paper  for  win- 
dows ; that  ship.  The  Mayflower,  riding  at  the  iis- 
tance  of  a mile,  — these  were  every  memorial  and 
trace  of  friendlj^  civilization  in  New  England.  Pri- 
meval forests,  a winter  sea,  a winter  sky,  enclosed 
them  about,  and  shut  out  every  approving  and  every 


THE  HEEOIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  99 


sjTnpathizing  eye  of  man ! To  play  the  part  of  hero- 
ism on  its  high  places  is  not  difficult.  To  do  it  alone, 
as  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible,  was  the  gigantic 
achievement  of  our  age  and  our  race  of  heroism. 

I have  said,  too,  that  a peculiarity  in  their  trial 
was,  that  they  were  unsustained  altogether  by  every 
one  of  the  passions,  aims,  stimulants,  and  excita- 
tions, — the  anger,  the  revenge,  the  hate,  the  pride, 
the  awakened  dreadful  thirst  of  blood,  the  consum- 
ing love  of  glory,  that  burn,  as  in  volcanic  isles,  in 
the  heart  of  a mere  secularized  heroism.  Not  one 
of  all  these  aids  did,  or  could,  come  in  use  for  them 
at  all.  Their  character  and  their  situation,  both, 
excluded  them.  Their  enemies  were  disease,  walking 
in  darkness  and  wasting  at  noonday ; famine  which, 
more  than  all  other  calamity,  bows  the  spirit  of  man, 
and  teaches  him  what  he  is  ; the  wilderness ; spirit- 
ual foes  in  the  high  places  of  the  unseen  world. 
Even  when  the  first  Indian  was  killed,  — in  presence 
of  which  enemy,  let  me  say,  not  one  ever  quailed,  — 
the  exclamation  of  Robinson  was,  “ Oh,  that  you  had 
converted  some,  before  you  had  killed  any ! ” 

Now,  I say,  the  heroism  which  in  a great  cause 
can  look  all  the  more  terrible  ills  that  flesh  is  heir 
to  calmly  in  the  face,  and  can  tread  them  out  as 
sparks  under  its  feet  without  these  aids,  is  at  least 
as  lofty  a quality  as  that  which  cannot.  To  my  eye, 
as  I look  back,  it  looms  on  the  shores  of  the  past 
with  a more  towering  grandeur.  It  seems  to  me  to 
speak  from  our  far  ancestral  life,  a higher  lesson,  to 
a nobler  nature ; certainly  it  is  the  rarer  and  more 
difficult  species.  If  one  were  called  on  to  select  the 
more  glittering  of  the  instances  of  military  heroism 


too 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PH^GRIMS 


to  which  the  admiration  of  the  world  has  been  most 
attracted,  he  would  make  choice,  I imagine,  of  the 
instance  of  that  desperate  valor,  with  which,  in 
obedience  to  the  laws,  Leonidas  and  his  three  hun- 
dred Spartans,  cast  themselves  headlong  at  the  passes 
of  Greece  on  the  myriads  of  their  Persian  invaders. 
From  the  simple  page  of  Herodotus,  longer  than 
from  the  Amphictyonic  monument,  or  the  games  of 
the  commemoration,  that  act  speaks  still  to  the  tears 
and  praise  of  all  the  world.  Yet  I agree  with  a late 
brilliant  writer  in  his  speculation  on  the  probable 
feelings  of  that  devoted  band,  left  alone,  or  waiting, 
till  day  should  break,  the  approach  of  a certain  death 
in  that  solitary  defile.  “ Their  enthusiasm,  and  that 
rigid  and  Spartan  spirit  which  had  made  all  ties  sub- 
servient to  obedience  to  the  law,  all  excitement  tame 
to  that  of  battle,  all  pleasures  dull  to  the  anticipation 
of  glory,  probably  rendered  the  hour  preceding  death 
the  most  enviable  of  their  lives.  They  might  have 
exulted  in  the  same  elevating  fanaticism  which  dis- 
tinguished afterwards  the  followers  of  Mahomet,  and 
have  seen  that  opening  paradise  in  immortality  be- 
low, which  the  Moslemin  beheld  in  anticipation 
above.”  Judge  if  it  were  not  so.  Judge  if  a more 
decorated  and  conspicuous  stage  was  ever  erected 
for  the  transaction  of  a deed  of  fame.  Every  eye 
in  Greece  ; every  eye  throughout  the  world  of  civi- 
lization, — throughout  even  the  civilized  and  bar- 
baric East,  — was  felt  to  be  turned  directly  on  the 
playing  of  that  brief  part.  There  passed  round  that 
narrow  circle  in  the  tent,  the  stern,  warning  image  of 
Sparta,  pointing  to  their  shields  and  saying,  “ With 
these  to-morrow,  or  upon  them ! ” Consider  that 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORT.  101 


the  one  concentrated  and  comprehensive  sentiment, 
graven  on  their  souls  as  by  fire  and  by  steel ; by  all 
the  influences  of  their  whole  life ; by  the  mother’s 
lips ; by  the  father’s  example ; by  the  law  ; by  ven- 
erated religious  rites ; by  public  opinion  strong- 
enough  to  change  the  moral  qualities  of  things ; by 
the  whole  fashion  and  nature  of  Spartan  culture, 
was  this : seek  first,  seek  last,  seek  always,  the 
glory  of  conquering  or  falling  on  a well-fought  field. 
Judge  if  that  night,  as  they  watched  the  dawn  of 
the  last  morning  their  eyes  could  ever  see ; as  they 
heard  with  every  passing  hour  the  hum  of  the  in- 
vading host,  his  dusky  lines  stretched  out  without 
end,  and  now  almost  encircling  them  around ; as 
they  remembered  their  unprofaned  home,  city  of 
heroes  and  of  the  mothers  of  heroes ; judge  if 
watching  there  in  the  gateway  of  Greece,  this  sen- 
timent did  not  grow  to  the  nature  of  madness ; if 
it  did  not  run  in  torrents  of  literal  fire  to  and  from 
the  laboring  heart.  When  morning  came  and  passed, 
and  they  had  dressed  their  long  locks,  and  when  at 
noon  the  countless  and  glittering  throng  was  seen  at 
last  to  move,  was  it  not  with  rapture,  as  if  all  the 
enjoyment  of  all  the  sensations  of  life  was  in  that 
one  moment,  that  they  cast  themselves,  with  the 
fierce  gladness  of  mountain  torrents,  on  that  brief 
revelry  of  glory  ? 

I acknowledge  the  splendor  of  that  transaction  in 
all  its  aspects.  I admit  its  morality,  too,  and  its 
useful  influence  on  every  Grecian  heart,  in  that  her 
great  crisis.  And  yet  do  you  not  think,  that  whoso 
could  by  adequate  description  bring  before  you  that 
first  winter  of  the  Pilgrims  ; its  brief  sunshine ; the 


102 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


nights  of  storms  slow  waning  ; its  damp  or  icy  breath 
felt  on  the  pillow  of  the  dying ; its  destitution ; its 
contrasts  with  all  their  former  experience  of  life ; its 
insulation  and  utter  loneliness ; its  death-beds  and 
burials ; its  memories  ; its  apprehensions  ; its  hopes  ; 
the  consultations  of  the  prudent ; the  prayers  of  the 
pious  ; the  occasional  hymn  which  may  have  soothed 
the  spirit  of  Luther,  in  which  the  strong  heart  threw 
off  its  burthen  and  asserted  its  un vanquished  nature ; 
do  you  not  think  that  whoso  could  describe  them 
calmly  waiting  in  that  defile,  lonelier  and  darker 
than  Thermopylm,  for  a morning  that  might  never 
dawn,  or  might  show  them  when  it  did,  a mightier 
arm  than  the  Persian,  raised  as  in  act  to  strike, 
would  he  not  sketch  a scene  of  more  difficult  and 
rarer  heroism,  — a scene,  as  Wordsworth  has  said, 
“ Melancholy,  yea  dismal,  yet  consolatory  and  full 
of  joy,”  — a scene  even  better  fitted  than  that  to 
succor,  to  exalt,  to  lead  the  forlorn  hopes  of  all  great 
causes  till  time  shall  be  no  more  ? 

I can  seem  to  see,  as  that  hard  and  dark  season 
was  passing  away,  a diminished  procession  of  these 
Pilgrims  following  another,  dearly  loved  and  newly 
dead,  to  that  bank  of  graves,  and  pausing  sadly 
there  before  they  shall  turn  away  to  see  that  face 
no  more.  In  full  view  from  that  spot  is  The  May- 
flower still  riding  at  her  anchor,  but  to  sail  in  a few 
days  more  for  England,  leaving  them  alone,  the  liv- 
ing and  the  dead,  to  the  weal  or  woe  of  their  new 
home.  I cannot  say  what  was  the  entire  emotion  of 
that  moment  and  that  scene ; but  the  tones  of  the 
venerated  elder’s  voice,  as  they  gathered  round  him, 
were  full  of  cheerful  trust,  and  they  went  to  hearts 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  103 


as  noble  as  bis  own.  “ This  spot,”  be  might  say, 
“this  line  of  shore,  yea,  tliis  whole  land,  grows 
dearer  daily,  were  it  only  for  the  precious  dust 
which  we  have  committed  to  its  bosom.  I would 
sleep  here  and  have  my  own  hour  come,  rather  than 
elsewhere,  with  those  who  shared  with  us  in  our 
exceeding  labors,  whose  burdens  are  now  unloosed 
for  ever.  I would  be  near  them  in  the  last  day,  and 
have  a part  in  then  resurrection.  And  now,”  he 
proceeded,  “ let  us  go  from  the  side  of  the  grave  to 
work  with  all  our  might  that  wliich  we  have  to  do. 
It  is  on  my  mind  that  our  night  of  sorrow  is  well- 
nigh  ended,  and  that  the  joj^  of  our  morning  is  at 
hand.  The  breath  of  the  pleasant  south-west  is 
here,  and  the  singing  of  birds.  The  sore  sickness 
is  stayed ; somewhat  more  than  half  our  number 
still  remain  ; and  among  these  some  of  our  best  and 
wisest,  though  others  are  fallen  on  sleep.  Matter 
of  joy  and  thanksgiving  it  is,  that  among  you  all, 
the  living  and  the  dead,  I know  not  one,  even  when 
disease  had  touched  him,  and  sharp  grief  had  made 
his  heart  as  a little  child’s,  who  desired,  yea,  who 
could  have  been  entreated,  to  go  back  to  England 
by  yonder  ship.  Plainly  is  it  God’s  will  that  we 
stand  or  fall  here.  All  His  providences  these  hun- 
dred years  declare  it  as  with  beams  of  the  sun.  Did 
He  not  set  His  bow  in  the  clouds  in  that  bitterest 
hour  of  our  embarking,  and  build  His  glorious  ark 
upon  the  sea  for  us  to  sail  through  hitherward? 
Wherefore,  let  us  stand  in  our  lot ! If  He  prosper 
us,  we  shall  found  a church  against  which  the  gates 
of  hell  shall  not  prevail ; and  a colony,  yea,  a nation, 
by  which  all  other  nations  shall  be  healed.  Millions 


104 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


shall  spring  from  our  loins,  and  trace  back  with  lin- 
eal love  their  blood  to  ours.  Centuries  hereafter,  in 
great  cities,  the  capitals  of  might}'-  States,  from  the 
tribes  of  a common  Israel,  shall  come  together  the 
good,  the  eminent,  the  beautiful,  to  remember  our 
dark  day  of  small  things ; yea,  generations  shall 
call  us  blessed  ! ” 

Without  a sigh,  calmly,  with  triumph,  they  sent 
The  Mayflower  away,  and  went  back,  these  stern, 
strong  men,  all,  all,  to  their  imperial  labors. 

I have  said  that  I deemed  it  a great  thing  for  a 
nation,  in  all  the  periods  of  its  fortunes,  to  be  able 
to  look  back  to  a race  of  founders  and  a principle 
of  institution  in  which  it  might  seem  to  see  the 
realized  idea  of  true  heroism.  That  felicity,  that 
pride,  that  help,  is  ours.  Our  past  — both  its  great 
eras,  that  of  settlement  and  that  of  independence  — 
should  announce,  should  compel,  should  spontane- 
ously evolve  as  from  a germ,  a wise,  moral,  and  glo- 
rious future.  These  heroic  men  and  women  should 
not  look  down  on  a dwindled  posterity.  It  should 
seem  to  be  almost  of  course,  too  easy  to  be  glorious, 
that  they  who  keep  the  graves,  bear  the  name,  and 
boast  the  blood,  of  men  in  whom  the  loftiest  sense 
of  duty  bleirded  itself  with  the  fiercest  spirit  of  lib- 
erty, should  add  to  their  freedom,  justice ; justice  to 
all  men,  to  all  nations  ; justice,  that  venerable  virtue, 
without  which  freedom,  valor,  and  power,  are  but 
vulgar  things. 

And  yet  is  the  past  nothing,  even  our  past,  but  as 
you,  quickened  by  its  examples,  instructed  by  its 
experience,  warned  by  its  voices,  assisted  by  its  ac- 
cumulated instrumentality,  shall  reproduce  it  in  the 


THE  HEROIC  PERIOD  OF  OUR  HISTORY.  105 


life  of  to-day.  Its  once  busy  existence,  various  sen- 
sations, fiery  trials,  dear-bought  triumphs ; its  dy- 
nasty of  heroes,  all  its  pulses  of  joy  and  anguish,  and 
hope  and  fear,  and  love  and  praise,  are  with  the 
years  beyond  the  fiood.  “ The  sleeping  and  the  dead 
are  but  as  pictures.”  Yet,  gazing  on  these,  long  and 
intently  and  often,  we  may  pass  into  the  likeness  of 
the  departed,  — may  emulate  their  labors,  and  par- 
take of  their  immortality. 


I 


106 


THE  POWEE  OF  A STATE 


THE  POWER  OF  A STATE  DEVELOPED  BY 
MENTAL  CULTURE: 

A LECTUEE  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  MERCANTILE  LIBRARY 
ASSOCIATION,  NOVEMBER  18,  1844. 


The  transition  from  the  scenes  which  have  been 
passing  before  us  for  the  last  few  months,  to  such  a 
spectacle  as  this,  is  so  sudden,  so  delightful,  that  I 
can  scarcely  refrain,  as  I cast  my  eyes  over  this  com- 
posed and  cultivated  assembly,  from  exclaiming, 
“ Hail,  holy  light ! ” The  clamor,  tumult,  and  stimu- 
lations which  attend  that  great  trial  and  great  task 
of  liberty  through  which  we  have  just  gone,  — a na- 
tion’s choice  of  its  ruler,  — those  vast  gatherings  of 
the  people,  — not  quite  in  their  original  and  ultimate 
sovereignty  above  or  without  the  law,  but  in  mass 
and  bodily  numbers  without  number ; jirocessions 
without  end,  — by  daylight  and  torchlight  — under 
the  law ; the  stormy  wave  of  the  multitude  rising 
and  falling  to  the  eloquence  of  liberty,  — if  it  were 
eloquence  at  all ; the  hope,  the  fear,  the  anxious  care, 
the  good  news  waited  for  and  not  coming,  the  bad 
news  riding  somewhere  about  a couple  of  hundred 
miles  in  advance  of  the  express  of  either  side ; the 
cheers  of  your  co-workers  ; the  hissings  and  groanings, 
not  to  be  uttered,  of  your  opponents,  — all  are  passed 
away  as  dreams.  We  find  ourselves  collected  with- 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTUKE. 


107 


out  distinction  of  party,  without  memory  of  party,  in 
the  security  and  confidence  of  reconciliation,  or  at  least 
of  truce,  in  the  still  air,  — upon  the  green  and  neutral 
ground  of  thoughts  and  studies  common  and  grateful 
to  us  all.  To  look  backward  brings  to  mind  what 
Lenox  says  to  Macbeth  in  the  morning,  before  he  had 
heard  of  the  murder  of  the  king. 

“ The  night  has  been  unruly ; where  we  lay 
Our  chimneys  were  blown  down,  and  as  they  say 
Lamentings  heard  in  the  air, 

And  prophesyings,  with  accents  terrible. 

Of  dire  combustion  and  confused  events 
New-hatched  to  the  woful  time  ! ” 

The  night  has  passed,  and  the  morning  of  an  event- 
ful day  is  risen.  So  much  we  know ; and  it  is  all  we 
know. 

Delightful,  in  some  sense,  as  I feel  this  change  of 
scene,  of  society,  and  of  infiuences  to  be,  I found 
myself  unable  and  unwilhng,  in  the  selection  of  a 
topic  for  the  hour  of  this  meeting,  altogether  to  for- 
get the  occasion  to  which  I have  referred.  I have 
rather  desired  to  see  if  we  might  not  all,  without  dis- 
tinction of  party,  (for  of  the  existence  of  party  we 
know  nothing  here,)  — if  we  might  not  all,  the  w’inner 
and  the  loser  — contrive  to  learn  some  useful  lesson 
from  the  occasion.  All  that  happens  in  the  world  of 
Nature  or  Man,  — every  war ; every  peace ; every 
hour  of  prosperity ; every  hour  of  adversity ; every 
election  ; every  death  ; every  fife  ; every  success  and 
every  failure,  — all  change,  — all  permanence,  — the 
perished  leaf ; the  unutterable  glory  of  stars,  — all 
things  speak  truth  to  the  thoughtful  spirit. 

“ List  ever,  then,  to  the  words  of  Wisdom,  whether 
she  speaketh  to  the  soul  in  the  full  chords  of  revela- 


108 


THE  POWEK  OF  A STATE 


tion,  in  the  teaching  of  earth  or  air  or  sky,  or  in  the 
still  melodies  of  thought ! ” 

I wonder,  then,  if  during  the  labors  and  excitations 
of  the  late  election,  and  in  the  contemplation  of 
possible  results  near  and  far  forward,  the  inquiry  has 
not  occurred  to  you,  as  to  me  it  has  a thousand  times, 
is  there  no  way,  are  there  no  expedients  by  wlrich 
such  a State  as  Massachusetts,  for  example,  may  re- 
main in  the  Union,  performing  the  duties,  partaking 
as  far  as  may  be  of  the  good  of  Union,  and  yet  be  in 
some  greater  degree  than  now  she  is  independent  of 
and  unaffected  by  the  administrative  and  legislative 
policy  of  Union  ? Is  there  no  way  to  secure  to  our- 
selves a more  steady,  sure,  progressive  prosperity,  — 
such  a prosperity  in  larger  measure  than  we  are  apt 
to  imagiue,  — whatever  national  politics  come  upper- 
most ? Is  there  no  way  to  sink  the  springs  of  our 
growth  and  greatness  so  deep,  that  the  want  of  a 
little  rain  or  a little  dew,  a little  too  much  sunshine 
or  too  much  shade  from  Washington,  shall  not  neces- 
sarily cut  off  “ the  herd  from  the  stalls  ” and  cause 
the  “ fields  to  yield  no  meat  ” ? Must  it  be,  that 
because  the  great  central  regions,  the  valley  of  the 
Mississippi,  the  undefined  and  expanding  South-west, 
have  attracted  to  themselves  the  numerical  suprem- 
acy— that  our  day  is  done?  Is  our  voice,  once 

“ Their  liveliest  pledge 
Of  hope  in  fears  and  dangers,  heard  so  oft 
In  worst  extremes,  and  on  the  perilous  edge 
Of  battle  when  it  raged  in  all  assaults 
Their  surest  signal,”  — 

is  that  voice  to  be  heard  no  more  ? Have  we  de- 
clined, must  we  decline,  into  the  condition  of  a 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


109 


province  — doomed  to  await  passively  the  edict  of  a 
distant  palace,  which  shall  cause  it  to  thrive  to-day 
and  pine  to-morrow ; now  raise  it  to  a gaudy  and 
false  prosperity,  and  then  press  “ its  beaming  forehead 
to  the  dust”?  Or  is  there  a way  by  which  we  yet 
may  be,  and  for  ever  may  be,  the  arbiters  of  our  own 
fortunes  ; may  yet  be  felt  in  the  counsels  of  America ; 
may  yet  help  to  command  a national  policy  which  we 
approve,  or  at  least  to  bear  unharmed  a national  pol- 
icy wliich  we  condemn  ? Must  we  pale  and  fade  and 
be  dissolved  in  the  superior  rays  of  the  great  con- 
stellation, or  yet  “ flame  in  the  forehead  of  the  morn- 
ing shy  ” with  something  of  the  brightness  of  our 
rising  ? 

I take  it  for  granted  in  all  such  speculations,  in  all 
such  moods  as  this,  that  we  are  to  remain  in  the 
Federal  Union.  With  our  sisters  of  the  Republic  we 
would  live  — we  would  die  — 

“ One  hope,  one  lot,  one  life,  one  glory.” 

I agree,  too,  that  whatever  we  may  do  for  Massa- 
chusetts, the  influence  of  national  politics  upon  our 
local  prosperity  must  always  be  inappreciably  great 
for  evil  or  for  good. 

It  is  of  individuals,  not  States,  that  Goldsmith 
exclaims, 

“How  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure. 

That  part  which  kings  or  laws  can  cause  or  cure  ! ” 

The  joy  and  sorrow,  the  greatness  and  decline,  of 
nations,  are  to  a vast  extent  the  precise  work  of  kings 
or  laws ; and  although  in  our  system  every  State  has 
its  own  government  and  its  own  civil  polity,  to  which 
important  functions  are  assigned,  yet  when  you  con- 


110 


THE  POWER  OF  A STATE 


sider  that  it  is  to  the  great  central  power  that  war, 
peace,  diplomacy,  finance,  our  whole  intercourse  \Adth 
the  world,  trade,  as  far  as  winds  blow  or  waters  roll, 
the  trust  of  our  glory,  the  protection  of  our  labor, 
are  confided,  — nobody  can  indulge  the  dream  that  a 
State  may  remain  in  the  Union  at  all,  and  yet  be 
insensible  of  the  good  and  evil,  the  wisdom  or  the 
folly,  the  honor  and  the  shame,  of  its  successive 
administrations. 

And  yet  I think  that  the  statesmen  of  Massachu- 
setts may  well  ask  themselves,  whether  there  are  no 
expedients  of  empire  or  imperial  arts  worthy  her,  — 
worthy  them,  — by  which  they  may  enable  her  either 
to  retain  consideration  and  lead  in  the  general  gov- 
ernment, to  be  conspicuous  and  influence  an  Ameri- 
can opinion,  by  which  they  may  enable  her  either  to 
extort  what  she  calls  good  policy,  — or  else  to  break 
the  force  of  what  she  calls  occasional  bad  policy, 
which  she  canirot  hinder  and  to  which  she  must 
submit. 

Passing  over  all  other  expedients  as  unsuitable  to 
the  character  and  relations  of  this  assembly,  is  it  not 
worth  while  to  consider  this  matter,  for  example,  — 
whether  a higher  degree  of  general  mental  culture,  a 
more  thorough  exercising  and  accomplishing  of  the 
whole  mass  of  our  popular  and  higher  mind,  more 
knowledge,  a wider  diffusion  of  knowledge,  loftier 
attainments  in  useful  and  in  graceful  knowledge  than 
we  have  ever  reached,  or  that  any  State  has  reached, 
might  not  help  us  to  meet  the  enlarging  demand  of 
time,  and  the  successive  crises  of  the  commonwealth? 
Is  it  certain  that  in  our  speculations  on  the  causes  of 
the  grandeur  and  decay,  of  the  wealth  and  the  pov- 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


Ill 


erty,  the  importance  and  the  insignificance,  of  States, 
we  have  given  quite  as  high  a place  as  it  deserves  to 
the  intellect  of  the  State  ? Have  we  not  thought  too 
much  of  capacious  harbors  or  teeming  inland,  navi- 
gable riA^ers,  fleets  of  merchant  ships  and  men-of-war, 
fields  of  wheat,  plantations  of  cotton  and  rice  and 
sugar,  too  much  of  tariffs  and  drawbacks  and  banks, 
and  too  little,  too  little,  of  that  soul,  by  which  only, 
the  nation  shall  be  great  and  free  ? In  our  specula- 
tions on  knowledge  and  the  bettering  of  the  mind,  is 
it  right  or  is  it  wise  to  treat  them  as  useful  or  as 
ornamental  individual  accomplishments  alone,  and 
not  sometimes  also  to  think  of  them  as  mines  of 
national  riches  wealthier  than  Ormus  or  Ind,  as 
perennial  and  salient  springs  of  national  power,  as 
foundations,  laid  far  below  earthquake  or  frost,  of  a 
towering  and  durable  public  greatness  ? After  all, 
this  is  the  thought  I would  present  to  you,  — is  there 
a surer  way  of  achieving  the  boast  of  Themistocles, 
that  he  knew  how  to  make  a small  State  a great  one, 
than  by  making  it  wise,  bright,  knowing,  apprehen- 
sive, quick-witted,  ingenious,  thoughtful ; by  com- 
municating to  the  Avhole  mass  of  its  people  the 
highest  degree  of  the  most  improved  kind  of  educa- 
tion in  its  largest  sense,  which  is  compatible  with  the 
system  of  practical  things ; by  beginning  at  the 
cradle,  by  touching  the  infant  lip  with  fire  from 
heaven ; by  perfecting  the  methods  of  the  free 
schools,  and  of  all  schools,  so  that  the  universal 
understanding  shall  be  opened,  kindled,  guided  at 
its  very  birth,  and  set  forward,  without  the  loss  of  a 
day,  on  the  true  path  of  intellectual  life  ; by  taking 
care  that  all  the  food  of  which  the  soul  of  the  people 


112 


THE  POWER  OF  A STATE 


eats  shall  be  wholesome  and  nutritious,  — that  the 
books  and  papers  which  they  read,  the  sermons  and 
speeches  which  they  hear,  shall  possess  at  least  a 
predominance  of  truth,  fact,  honesty,  of  right  and 
high  thought,  just  and  graceful  feeling;  by  providing 
institutions  to  guide  the  mature  mind  to  the  heights 
of  knowledge ; by  collections  of  art  and  taste  that 
shall  unfold  and  instruct  the  love  of  beauty ; by 
planting  betimes  the  gardens  of  a divine  philosophy, 
and  spreading  out  the  pavilion  of  the  Muses  ? 

Let  us  think  a little  of  mental  culture  as  the  true 
local  policy  of  Massachusetts. 

I do  not  propose  to  repeat  any  thing  quite  so  gen- 
eral and  elementary  as  that  easy  commonplace  which 
my  Lord  Bacon  has  illustrated  so  fondly  and  so  gor- 
geously, that  learned  States  have  been  usually  pros- 
perous States,  that  the  eras  of  lettered  glory  have 
been  eras  of  martial  and  civil  glory  too,  that  an  in- 
structed people  has  been  for  the  most  part  a rich, 
laborious,  energetic,  and  powerful  people.  The  his- 
torical fact  is  undoubtedly  as  he  records  it ; and  it  is 
as  encouraging  as  it  is  true.  I wish  to  unfold  the 
operations  and  uses  of  learning  and  culture  in  a little 
more  detail,  and  with  a more  confined  and  local  refer- 
ence to  the  case  before  us.  Mental  culture,  as  the 
true  local  policy  of  Massachusetts,  I have  said,  is  the 
topic  to  which  I am  restricted. 

Let  me  say,  however,  in  the  first  place,  generally, 
that  mental  culture  should  contribute  to  our  power 
and  our  consideration,  by  communicating  or  by  de- 
veloping those  traits  of  character  that  lie  at  the 
foundation  of  all  splendid  and  remarkable  national 
distinction.  All  the  greatness  which  is  recorded  in 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


118 


the  histories  or  the  epies  of  all  the  great  States  of  the 
-earth,  all  the  long  series  of  their  virtues,  all  their 
comjDass  of  policy,  all  their  successful  contention  with 
nature  or  with  man,  all  tlieir  great  works  well  per- 
formed, all  their  great  dangers  bravely  met,  all  the 
great  perils  which  harass  them  resisted  and  scattered, 
all  their  industrial  renown,  their  agricultnre,  their 
tiade,  their  art,  their  science,  their  libraries,  their 
architecture,  all  their  contributions  to  thought,  to 
humanity,  to  progress,  all  the  charm  that  attaches  to 
their  living  name  and  that  lingers  on  the  capacious 
tomb  into  which  at  last  they  go  down,  — all  this  you 
trace  at  length  to  a few  energetic  qualities  of  mind 
and  character.  It  does  not  spring  from  any  fortuitous 
concurrence  of  any  quantity  of  mere  material  atoms ; 
it  is  not  the  growth  of  any  number  of  hundred  years 
of  rain  and  snnshine  falling  npon  the  snrface  of  the 
earth ; it  is  not  a spontaneous  or  necessary  develop- 
ment and  manifestation  according  to  some  mechanical 
and  organic  laws  ; — it  is  a production  of  the  human 
mind;  it  is  a creation  of  the  human  will;  it  is  just 
the  nobler  and  larger  parts  of  man,  in  their  most 
appropriate  and  grandest  exemplifications.  All  of 
it  rests  at  last  on  enterprise,  energy,  curiosity,  perse- 
verance, fancy,  talent, — loftily  directed,  heroically 
directed.  A few  simple,  commanding  traits,  a digni- 
fied aim,  a high  eonception  of  the  true  glory  of  a 
State,  — with  a little  land  and  water  to  work  with,  — 
and  you  have  a great  nation.  I approve,  therefore, 
of  these  expressions : the  Roman  mind,  the  Grecian 
mind,  the  Oriental  mind,  the  European  mind.  There 
is  true  philosophy  and  an  accurate  history  in  them. 
They  penetrate  to  the  true  criteria  which  distinguish 

8 


114 


THE  POWER  OE  A STATE 


races,  — the  mental  criteria.  It  is  not  her  “ plumed 
and  jewelled  turban,”  her  tea-plant  and  her  cinnamon- 
plant,  her  caves,  temples,  and  groves  of  palms,  her 
exhaustless  fertility  of  soils,  her  accumulations  of 
imperial  treasures,  — “ barbaric  pearl  and  gold,” 
as  in  a dream  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  — by  which  I 
recognize  the  primeval  East ; it  is  that  universal 
childhood  of  reason,  — not  a day  older  than  in  the 
age  of  Sardanapalus  or  of  Ninus,  — that  subjugated 
popular  character  bowed  to  the  earth  beneath  the 
superincumbent  despotism  of  ages,  that  levity  and 
vanity  and  effeminacy  of  the  privileged  few,  the 
elaborate  luxury  in  which  their  lives  are  steeped, 
their  poetry  of  the  fancy,  their  long  contemplations 
on  nature  and  divinity,  on  which  the  whole  intellect 
of  the  East  might  brood  for  six  thousand  years  and 
not  bring  away  as  much  truth  as  is  taught  in  six 
months  to  the  oldest  boys  and  girls  in  our  high 
schools,  — these  are  the  true  characteristics  of  Asia  ; 
these  it  is  which  solve  all  the  facts  of  her  history  ; 
these  it  is  which,  put  into  action,  are  her  history 
itself.  And  then  passing  westward  to  Athens,  — to 
Attica,  — is  it  her  area,  not  quite  so  large,  not  half 
as  fertile,  as  our  own  Rhode  Island,  her  mountain 
steeps  sprinkled  with  dwarf  oaks  and  fir  trees,  her 
sun-burnt  valleys  covered  with  meagre  herbage,  her 
wintry  torrents  dried  up  in  summer,  her  olive  trees 
with  their  pale  leaf  and  pliable  branches,  — is  it  these 
things  which  seem  to  you  to  have  made  up  the  grace 
of  Greece,  or  was  it  that  flexible,  brave,  and  energetic 
character,  so  prompt  and  full  of  resource,  that  curi- 
osity and  perseverance  and  Are,  that  love  of  Athens 
and  of  glory,  that  sub  til  ty  of  practical  understanding, 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


115 


that  unrivalled  elegance  of  taste,  that  teeming  and 
beautiful  fancy,  — were  not  these  the  traits,  and 
these  the  gifts  which  created  the  Athens  of  the 
world  and  of  all  ages,  — the  one  and  only  Athens  ; 
which  are  embodied  for  us  in  the  Iliad  and  in  the 
CEclipus  and  in  the  Parthenon,  in  the  treatises  of 
Aristotle,  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  the  orations  of 
Demosthenes,  — that  eloquence  of  an  expiring  na- 
tion ; which  stand  out  on  the  sculptured  page  of 
Plutarch  in  the  port  of  a hundred  demi-gods  ; which 
created  her  to  be  a teacher  of  patriotism  and  a light  to 
liberty ; which  won  for  her  in  her  own  time  the  place 
of  the  first  power  of  the  world,  and  seated  her  with 
a more  rare  felicity  on  an  intellectual  throne,  from 
which  no  progress  of  the  species  may  cast  her  down  ? 

Now,  if  the  nations  differ  by  their  minds,  the  right 
kind  and  the  right  degree  of  mental  culture  goes  to 
the  very  springs  of  the  national  nature.  It  applies 
itself  directly  to  the  causa  causans.  It  imparts  and 
it  shapes  that  basis  of  qualities,  good  or  bad,  large  or 
little,  stone  or  wood,  or  hay  or  stubble,  — on  which 
the  State  ascends  to  its  duration  of  a day,  or  its  dura- 
tion of  ages. 

I do  not  say  that  mental  culture  alone  can  com- 
pletely educate  a nation,  — far  from  it.  There  must 
be  action.  There  must  be  labor.  There  must  be 
difficulty.  There  must  be  the  baptism  of  blood  and 
of  fire.  If  there  is  a not  very  fertile  soil  under  foot, 
a not  very  spicy  air  around,  a not  very  luxurious 
heaven  overhead,  — it  is  all  the  better. 

Nor  is  it  every  kind  and  every  degree  of  mental 
culture  that  will  do  this  work.  It  must  be  such 
culture  as  may  be  given  to  an  employed,  a grave,  an 


116 


THE  POWER  OF  A STATE 


earnest,  a moral,  and  a free  people.  It  must  be  a 
culture  of  the  reason  and  of  the  heart.  It  must  not 
be  a culture  like  that  which  consoled  the  Paris  of 
Louis  XIV.,  which  consoles  the  Rome,  the  Florence, 
and  the  Venice  of  our  time  for  the  loss,  for  the  want, 
of  liberty.  It  must  not  be  a culture  which  supplies 
trifles  to  the  eye,  stimulations  to  the  senses,  shows  to 
the  fancy,  the  music  of  a holiday  to  the  ear.  It  must 
not  be  a culture  which  turns  mortal  life,  that  solemn 
and  that  grand  reality  and  waking,  into  a fine  dream, 

— and  presents  death,  not  as  an  interruption  of  pro- 
found attachments,  earnest  labors,  and  serious  aims, 

— but  as  a drooping  of  the  garlands  of  a feast  from 
which  the  guests  have  departed.  It  must  be  a very 
different  kind  of  mental  culture  from  this.  It  must  be 
one  which  shall  be  so  directed  as  to  give  force,  power, 
depth,  effectiveness,  to  the  intellect  of  the  whole 
people.  It  must  he  one  which,  beginning  with  the 
youngest  child,  shall  seek  to  improve  the  heart  of  the 
people,  shall  propose  to  the  infant  and  to  the  adoles- 
cent will  and  sensibilities  great  examples,  as  well  as 
wholesome  counsel,  — the  careers  of  nations  and  of 
men  — pure,  rapid,  and  majestic,  as  rivers  — grand, 
swelling  sentiments  of  libertj^  patriotism,  duty,  and 
honor,  — triumphant,  awful,  splendid  deaths,  — the 
Puritan  at  the  stake,  the  patriot  on  the  scaffold,  those 
who  fell  at  Thermopylae  in  obedience  to  the  law, 
those  who  were  buried  at  Plymouth  in  the  first, 
awful  winter.  Such  a culture  as  this  it  is,  which, 
blending  with  the  other  discipline  of  public  and  pri- 
vate life,  may  prove  the  mother  and  nurse  of  a great, 
thoughtful,  and  free  people.  “ Remember  that  the 
learning  of  the  few  is  despotism ; the  learning  of  the 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTUEE. 


117 


multitude  is  liberty ; — and  that  intelligent  and 
principled  liberty  is  fame,  wisdom,  and  power.” 

In  the  next  place,  to  come  down  to  a little  more 
detail,  mental  culture  may  contribute  to  our  security, 
our  independence,  our  local  aggrandizement,  by  in- 
forming and  directing  our  labor. 

I need  not  tell  you  that  labor  is  the  condition  — I 
will  not  say,  of  our  greatness,  but  — of  our  being. 
What  were  Massachusetts  without  it  ? Lying  away 
up  under  the  North  star,  — our  winters  long  and 
cold,  our  springs  backward  and  capricious,  our  sky 
ungenial,  our  coast  iron-bound,  — our  soil  not  over- 
productive,  barren  almost  altogether  of  the  great 
staples  of  commerce  which  adorn  and  enrich  the 
wheat-fields  of  the  central  regions,  the  ocean  prai- 
ries of  the  West,  the  rice-grounds  and  sugar  and 
cotton  plantations  of  the  South,  — our  area  small,  — 
our  numbers  few,  — our  earlier  occupations  of  navi- 
gation and  fishing  divided  with  us  by  a whole  world 
at  peace, — what  is  therefor  us  but  labor,  — labor 
improhus^  labor  omnia  vincens  ? And  what  kind  of 
labor  is  it  which  is  to  vanquish  the  antagonist  powers 
of  nature,  and  build  the  palace  of  a commodious  and 
conspicuous  national  life  over  against  these  granite 
mountains  and  this  unfruitful  sea  ? Is  it  one  kind, 
or  two  ; or  is  it  the  whole  vast  and  various  labor  of 
intellectual  civilization,  — not  agriculture  only  and 
trade  and  fishing,  but  the  whole  family  of  robust  and 
manly  arts,  which  furnish  occupation  to  everybody 
every  moment  of  working  time,  — occupation,  to 
every  taste  and  talent  and  faculty,  that  which  it 
likes  best,  that  which  improves  it  most,  that  which 
it  can  do  easiest,  — occupation  for  the  strong  and 


118 


THE  POWER  OF  A STATE 


the  weak,  the  bright  and  the  dull,  the  you^^g  and  the 
old,  and  both  the  sexes,  — occupation  for  winter  and 
summer,  daylight  and  lamplight,  cold  weather  and 
warm,  wet  and  dry,  — occupation  that  shall,  with 
more  than  magnetic  touch,  seize  on,  develop,  disci- 
pline, and  perfect  every  capacity,  the  whole  mass  of 
ability,  gathering  up  all  fragments  of  mind  and  of 
time,  so  that  nothing  be  lost,  — is  not  this  the  labor 
by  which  we  are  to  grow  great  ? Is  not  this  the 
labor  which  is  to  be  to  us  in  the  place  of  mines,  of 
pearls,  of  vineyards,  of  cinnamon  gardens,  of  enam 
elled  prairies,  of  wheat-fields,  of  rice-grounds  and 
cotton-fields  and  sugar-plantations  tilled  by  the 
hands  of  slaves?  This  is  that  transmuting  power 
without  which  we  are  poor,  give  what  they  will  — 
with  it  rich,  take  what  they  will  away ! This  it  is, 
labor,  ever  labor,  which,  on  the  land,  on  the  sea,  in 
the  fields,  in  all  its  applications,  with  all  its  helps, 
from  the  straw  bonnet  braided  or  plaited  by  the 
fingers,  up  to  those  vast  processes  in  wliich,  evoking 
to  its  aid  the  powers  of  nature  and  the  contrivances 
of  ages  of  skill,  it  takes  the  shapeless  ore  from  its 
bed,  the  fieece  from  the  felt,  the  cotton  from  the 
pod,  and  moulds  them  into  shapes  of  beauty  and 
use  and  taste,  — the  clothing,  the  armor,  the  furni- 
ture of  civilization,  sought  for  in  all  the  markets  of 
the  world,  — this  it  is  which  is  to  enrich  and  decorate 
this  unlovely  nature  where  our  lot  is  cast,  and  fit  it 
for  the  home  of  cultivated  man  ! 

Now,  if  the  highest  practicable  degree  of  mental 
culture  and  useful  knowledge  is  really  the  best 
instrumentality  for  instructing,  guiding,  vivifying, 
helping  this  rough  power  of  labor,  — if  it  will  sup- 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTUEE. 


119 


ply  the  chemistry  which  teaches  it  how  to  enrich 
barren  soils,  reclaim  and  spare  exhausted  soils,  irri- 
gate parched  soils,  make  two  blades  of  grass  grow 
where  one  grew  before,  — if  it  will  teach  it  how  to 
build  tunnels  through  mountains  or  beneath  beds 
of  rivers  and  under  populous  towns,  how  to  fill  or 
bridge  the  valley,  how  to  stretch  out  and  fasten  in 
their  places  those  long  lines  of  iron  roads  which,  as 
mighty  rivers,  pour  the  whole  vast  inland  into  a 
market  of  exchange  for  what  trade  has  gathered 
from  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  — if  it  will  teach 
it  better  how  to  plan  its  voyages  and  make  its  pur- 
chases, so  as  most  seasonably  to  meet  the  various 
and  sudden  and  changing  demands  of  men  by  the 
adequate  supply,  — if  it  can  teach  it  how  to  con- 
struct its  tools,  how  to  improve  old  ones  and  invent 
new,  how  to  use  them,  by  what  shortest  and  simplest 
and  cheapest  process  it  can  arrive  at  the  largest  re- 
sults of  production,  — if  it  can  thus  instruct  and 
thus  aid  that  labor,  which  is  our  only  source  of 
wealth,  and  of  all  material  greatness,  — if,  above 
all,  when  rightly  guided  by  the  morality  and  religion 
which  I assume  everywhere  to  preside  over  our  edu- 
cation, it  communicates  that  moral  and  prudential 
character  which  is  as  needful  and  as  available  for 
thrift  as  for  virtue,  thoughtfulness,  economy,  self- 
estimation,  sobriety,  respect  for  others’  rights,  — is 
it  not  an  obvious  local  and  industrial  policy  to  pro- 
mote, diffuse,  and  perfect  it  ? 

Well,  I must  not  spend  a moment  in  the  proof  of 
a proposition  so  palpable  as  this.  I say  there  is  not 
an  occupation  of  civilized  life,  from  the  making  of 
laws  and  poems  and  histories,  down  to  the  opening 


120 


THE  POWER  OF  A STATE 


of  New  Jersey  oysters  witli  a broken  jack-kuite, 
that  is  not  better  done  by  a bright  than  a dull  man, 
by  a quick  than  a slow  mind,  by  an  instructed  man 
than  a gross  or  simple  man,  by  a prudent,  thought* 
ful,  and  careful  man,  than  by  a hght  and  foolish  one. 
Every  one  of  these  occupations  — in  other  words, 
the  universal  labor  of  civilization  — involves,  de- 
mands, is,  a mental  effort,  putting  forth  a physical 
effort ; and  you  do  but  only  go  to  the  fountain-head, 
as  you  ought  to  do,  when  you  seek,  by  an  improved 
culture  and  a better  knowledge,  to  give  force  and 
power  to  the  imperial  capacity  behind,  and  to  set  a 
thoughtfrd  and  prudent  spirit  to  urge  and  to  guide 
it.  You  say  that  you  bestow  a new  power  on  man, 
when  you  give  him  an  improved  machine.  Do  you 
not  bestow  a more  available  gift,  when  you  bestow 
on  hinr  an  improvement  of  that  mental  and  moral 
nature  which  makes,  improves,  and  uses,  profitably 
or  unprofitably,  all  machines  ? In  one  case,  you  give 
him  a limited  and  definite  amount  of  coined  money, 
in  the  other  a mine  of  gold  or  silver.  Nay,  Avhat 
avails  the  improved  machine  to  the  untaught  mind  ? 
Put  a forty-feet  telescope,  with  its  mirrors  of  four 
feet  diameter,  into  the  hands  of  a savage,  whether 
in  civilized  or  Indian  life,  and  he  sees  about  as  much 
as  our  children  see  through  a glass  prism,  — gaudy 
outlines,  purple  and  orange  and  green  crossing  and 
blending  on  every  thing.  Let  the  exercised  mind  of 
Ilerschel  lift  that  same  tube  from  the  Caj)e  of  Hope 
toward  the  southern  sky,  and  the  architecture  of 
the  heavens  — not  made  with  hands  — ascends  be- 
fore him,  — 

“ Glory  beyond  all  glory  ever  seen 
By  waking  sense,  or  by  the  dreaming  soul  1 


DEVELOPED  BY  IMENTAL  CULTURE. 


121 


firmaments  of  fixed  stars,  — of  which  all  the  stars  in 
our  heaven,  all  our  eye  takes  in,  form  but  one  firma- 
ment, one  constellation  only  of  a universe  of  con- 
stellations, separated  by  unsounded  abysses,  yet 
holden  together  by  invisible  bands,  — moving  to- 
gether, perhaps,  about  some  centre,  to  which  the 
emancipated  soul  may  in  some  stage  of  being  as- 
cend, but  which  earthly  science  shall  vanish  away 
vdthout  seeing ! 

Such  in  kind,  not  of  course  in  degree,  is  the  addi- 
tional power  you  give  to  labor  by  improving  the 
intellectual  and  prudential  character  which  informs 
and  guides  it. 

It  is  within  the  knowledge  of  you  all  that  Mr. 
IMann,  in  one  of  those  reports  to  the  Board  of  Edu- 
cation to  which  the  community  is  so  much  indebted, 
I believe  the  fifth,  has  developed  this  thought  with 
that  keenness  of  analysis  and  clearness  and  force 
of  expression  for  which  he  is  remarkable.  You  will 
be  particularly  struck  with  the  proofs  which  he  has 
there  collected  from  several  most  intelligent  and 
respectable  superintendents  or  proprietors  of  manu- 
facturing establishments,  showing  by  precise  statisti- 
cal details,  derived  from  a long  course  of  personal 
observation,  that  throughout  the  whole  range  of 
mechanical  industry  the  well  educated  operative 
does  more  work,  does  it  better,  wastes  less,  uses 
his  allotted  portion  of  machinery  to  more  advan- 
tage and  more  profit,  earns  more  money,  commands 
more  confidence,  rises  faster,  rises  higher,  from  the 
lower  to  the  more  advanced  positions  of  his  employ- 
ments, than  the  uneducated  operative.  And  now, 
how  interestingly  and  directly  this  fact  connects 


122 


THE  POWER  OF  A STATE 


itself  with  my  subject,  I ueed  not  pause  to  show. 
You  speak  of  tariffs  to  protect  your  industry  from 
the  redundant  capital,  the  pauper  labor,  the  matured 
skill,  the  aggressive  and  fitful  policy,  of  other  na- 
tions. You  cannot  lay  a tariff  under  the  Constitu- 
tion, and  you  cannot  compel  Congress  to  do  so  ; but 
you  can  try  to  rear  a class  of  working-men  who  may 
help  you  to  do  something  without  one.  You  speak 
of  specific  duties,  and  discriminating  duties,  and 
what  not ! Are  you  sure  that  if  everybody,  — every 
mind,  I should  say,  — which  turns  a wheel  or  makes 
a pin  in  tliis  great  workshop  of  ours,  all  full  from 
basement  to  attic  with  the  various  hum  of  free 
labor,  was  educated  up'  to  the  utmost  degree  com- 
patible with  his  place  in  life,  — that  this  alone 
would  not  be  equal  to  at  least  a uniform  duty  of 
about  twenty-eight  per  cent,  ad  valorem,  all  on  the 
home  value?  You  must  have  more  skill  you  say, 
more  skill  than  now,  or  you  must  have  govern- 
mental protection.  Very  well;  go  to  work  to  make 
it,  then.  You  manufacture  almost  every  thing.  Sup- 
pose you  go  into  the  manufacture  of  skill.  Try 
your  hand  at  the  skill  business.  Skill  in  the  arts  is 
mental  power  exercised  in  arts,  that  is  all.  Begin 
by  making  mental  power.  You  can  do  that  as  easily 
as  you  can  make  satinets  or  fustian  or  chain-cable. 
You  have  a great  deal  of  money.  The  world  never 
saw  such  a provision  for  popular  and  higher  educa- 
tion as  you  could  make  in  a year  in  Massachusetts, 
and  not  feel  it.  Consider  how  true  and  fine  in  this 
application  would  the  words  of  the  charitable  man’s 
epitaph  be : “ What  I spent  I had.  What  I kept  I 
lost.  What  I gave  away  remains  with  me  ! ” 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


123 


By  what  precise  course  of  instruction,  elementary 
and  advanced,  by  what  happier  methods,  by  what  easier 
access  to  the  mind  and  heart,  by  “what  drugs,  what 
charms,  what  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic,” 
this  heightened  mental  ability  and  accomplishment 
may  be  achieved,  which  I know  is  practicable,  and 
which  I know  is  power,  — it  is  not  within  my  plan,  if 
I could,  to  suggest.  I may  be  permitted  to  remem- 
ber, that  the  first  time  1 ever  ventured  to  open  my 
lips  in  a deliberative  body,  I had  the  honor  to  support 
a bill  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  in  Massa- 
chusetts, providing  for  educating  teachers  of  common 
schools.  I should  be  perfectly  willing  to  open  them 
for  the  last  time,  in  the  same  place,  in  support  of  the 
same  proposition  exactly.  I can  conceive  of  a body 
of  teachers,  — I know  individuals  now,  — who  would 
do  this  great  work  for  Massachusetts,  as  patriotism 
and  rehgion  would  wish  it  done,  — who  would  take 
the  infant  capacity  of  the  people,  as  it  came  to  life, 
into  their  arms,  and  breathe  into  it  the  quicken- 
ing breath,  — who  receiving  it,  bathed  and  blessed 
by  a mother’s  love,  would  apply  to  it,  instead  of 
stripes,  the  gentle,  irresistible  magnet  of  scientific 
instruction,  opening  it  as  a fiower  to  light  and  rain,  — 
who,  when  the  intellectual  appetite  was  begun  to  be 
developed,  would  feed  it  with  the  angels’  food  of  the 
best  mental  and  moral  culture  which  years  of  reflec- 
tion and  experience  and  mterchange  of  thought  could 
suggest,  — woidd  carry  forward  the  heart  and  the 
reason  together,  — woidd  fit  the  whole  bright  tribe  of 
childhood  as  completely,  in  so  far  as  intellect  and 
acquisition  are  concerned,  for  beginning  to  wrestle 
with  the  practical  realities  of  life  at  fourteen,  as  now 
at  one-and-twenty. 


124 


THE  POWER  OF  A STATE 


To  such  teachers  I leave  details,  with  one  sugges- 
tion only,  — that  I would  not  take  the  Bible  from  the 
schools  so  long  as  a particle  of  Plymouth  Rock  was 
left,  large  enough  to  make  a gun-flint  of,  or  as  long 
as  its  dust  floated  in  the  air.  I would  have  it  read 
not  only  for  its  authoritative  revelations,  and  its  com- 
mands and  exactions,  obligatory  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
for  ever,  but  for  its  English,  for  its  literature,  for  its 
pathos,  for  its  dim  imagery,  its  sayings  of  consolation 
and  wisdom  and  universal  truth,  — achieving  how 
much  more  than  the  effect  which  Milton  ascribes  to 
music : 

“Nor  wanting  power  to  mitigate  and  swage, 

With  solemn  touches,  troubled  thoughts,  and  chase 
Anguish  and  doubt  and  fear  and  sorrow  and  pain 
From  mortal,  or  immortal  minds.” 

Perhaps  as  striking  an  illustration  on  a large  scale 
as  could  be  desired,  of  the  connection  between  the 
best  directed  and  most  skilful  labor  and  the  most 
cultivated  and  most  powerful  intellect,  is  afforded  by 
the  case  of  England.  British  industry,  as  a whole,  is 
among  the  most  splendid  and  extraordinary  things  in 
the  history  of  man.  When  you  consider  how  small 
a work -bench  it  has  to  occupy  altogether,  — a little 
stormy  island  bathed  in  almost  perpetual  fogs,  with- 
out silk,  or  cotton,  or  vineyards,  or  sunshine ; and 
then  look  at  that  agriculture  so  scientific  and  so 
rewarded,  that  vast  net-work  of  internal  intercom- 
munication, the  docks,  merchant-ships,  men-of-war, 
the  trade  encompassing  the  globe,  the  flag  on  which 
the  sun  never  sets,  — when  you  look  above  all  at  that 
vast  body  of  useful  and  manly  art,  — not  directed 
like  the  industry  of  France  — the  industry  of  vanity 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


125 


— to  making  pier-glasses  and  air-balloons  and  gobelin 
tapestry  and  mirrors,  to  arranging  processions  and 
cbiselling  silver  and  twisting  gold  into  filigrees, — 
but  to  clothing  the  people,  to  the  manufacture  of 
woollen,  cotton,  and  linen  cloth,  of  railroads  and 
chain-cables  and  canals  and  anchors  and  achromatic 
telescopes,  and  chronometers  to  keep  the  time  at 
sea,  — when  yon  think  of  the  vast  aggregate  mass  of 
their  manufacturing  and  mechanical  production,  which 
no  statistics  can  express,  and  to  find  a market  for 
which  she  is  planting  colonies  under  every  constel- 
lation, and  by  intimidation,  by  diplomacy,  is  knocking 
at  the  door  of  every  market-house  upon  the  earth,  — 
it  is  really  diflBcult  to  restrain  our  admiration  of  such 
a display  of  energy,  labor,  and  genius,  winning 
bloodless  and  innocent  triumphs  everywhere,  giving 
to  the  age  we  live  in  the  name  of  the  age  of  the  in- 
dustry of  the  people.  Now,  the  strildng  and  the 
instructive  fact  is,  that  exactly  in  that  island  work- 
shop, by  this  very  race  of  artisans,  of  coal-heavers 
and  woollen  manufacturers,  of  machinists  and  black- 
smiths and  ship-carpenters,  there  has  been  produced 
and  embodied  for  ever,  in  words  that  will  outlast 
the  mountains  as  well  as  the  Pyramids,  a literature 
wliich,  take  it  for  all  in  all,  is  the  richest,  most  pro- 
found, most  instructive,  combining  more  spirituality 
with  more  common  sense,  springing  from  more  capa- 
cious souls,  conveying  a better  wisdom,  more  con- 
formable to  the  truth  in  man,  in  nature,  and  in  human 
life,  than  the  literature  of  any  nation  that  ever  existed. 
That  same  race,  side  by  side  with  the  unparalleled 
growth  of  its  industry,  produces  Shakspeare,  Milton, 
Bacon,  and  Newton,  all  four  at  the  summit  of  human 


126 


THE  POWEK  OF  A STATE 


thought,  — and  then,  just  below  these  unapproachable 
fixed  lights,  a whole  firmament  of  glories,  lesser  than 
they,  as  all  created  intelligence  must  be,  yet  in  whose 
superior  rays  the  age  of  Augustus,  of  Leo  X.,  of 
Louis  XIV.,  all  but  the  age  of  Pericles,  the  culture 
of  Greece,  pale  and  fade.  And  yet  the  literature  of 
England  is  not  the  only,  scarcely  the  most  splendid, 
fruit  or  form  of  the  mental  power  and  the  energetic 
character  of  England.  That  same  race,  along  with 
their  industry,  along  with  their  literature,  has  built 
up  a jurisprudence  which  is  for  substance  our  law 
to-day,  — has  constructed  the  largest  mercantile  and 
war  navy,  and  the  largest  commercial  empire  with  its 
pillars  encircling  the  globe,  that  men  ever  saw,  — has 
gained  greater  victories  on  sea  and  land  than  any 
power  in  the  world,  — has  erected  the  smallest  spot 
to  the  most  imperial  ascendency  recorded  in  history. 
The  administrative  triumphs  of  her  intellect  are  as 
conspicuous  as  her  imaginative  and  her  speculative 
triumphs. 

Such  is  mental  power.  Mark  its  union  with  labor 
and  with  all  greatness ; deduce  the  law ; learn  the 
lesson  ; see  how  you,  too,  may  grow  great.  Such  an 
industry  as  that  of  England  demanded  such  an 
intellect  as  that  of  England.  Sic  vobis  etiam  itur  ad 
astra  ! That  way  to  you,  also,  glory  lies  ! 

I have  now  been  speaking  of  a way  in  which  mental 
culture  may  help  your  labor  to  grow  independent  of 
governmental  policy,  and  thus  to  disregard  and  en- 
dure what  you  cannot  control.  But  may  not  the 
same  great  agent  do  more  than  this?  Maj'  it  not, 
not  merely  enable  you  to  bear  an  administrative  pol- 
icy which  you  cannot  prevent,  but  enable  you  to 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


127 


return  the  more  grateful  power  of  influencing  na- 
tional councils  and  national  policy,  long  after  the 
numerical  control  has  gone  to  dwell  in  the  imperial 
valley  of  the  West? 

I will  not  pause  to  say  so  obvious  a thing,  as  that 
those  you  call  public  men,  those  whom  you  send  to 
urge  your  claims  and  consult  your  interests  in  the 
national  assembly,  are  better  fitted  for  their  task  by 
profound  and  liberal  studies.  This  were  too  obvious 
a thought;  and  yet  I cannot  help  holding  up  to  your 
notice  a very  splendid  exemplification  of  this,  in  that 
“old  man  eloquent,”  who  counts  himself  to  have 
risen  from  the  Presidency  to  represent  the  people  in 
the  House  of  Representatives.  See  there  what  the 
most  universal  acquisitions  will  do  for  the  most  power- 
ful talents.  How  those  vast  accumulations  of  learning 
are  fused,  moulded,  and  projected,  by  the  fiery  tide 
of  mind ! How  that  capacious  memory,  realizing 
half  the  marvels  of  Pascal  and  of  Cicero,  yields  up 
in  a moment  the  hived  wisdom  of  a life  of  study  and 
a life  of  action,  — the  happiest  word,  the  aptest 
literary  illustration,  the  exact  detail,  the  precise 
rhetorical  instrument  the  case  demands,  — how  it 
yields  all  up  instantly  to  the  stimulated,  fervid,  un- 
quenchable faculties ! How  little  of  dilettanteism 
and  parade,  and  vagueness  of  phrase  and  mysticism 
of  idea ; how  clear,  available,  practicable,  direct, 
— one  immense  torrent,  rushing  as  an  arrow,  all 
the  way  from  the  perennial  source  to  the  hundred 
mouths ! 

If  mental  culture  did  nothing  for  you  but  send 
such  men  to  consult  on  your  welfare  in  the  councils 
of  the  nation,  it  would  do  much  to  preserve  your 


128 


THE  POWEK  OF  A STATE 


political  ascendency.  But  look  at  this  matter  a little 
more  largely.  Suppose  that  by  succession  of  effort, 
by  study,  by  time,  you  could  really  carry  iip  the  lite- 
rary character  of  Massachusetts  to  as  high  a degree 
of  superiority  to  the  general  literary  character  of  these 
States,  as  that  of  Attica  compared  with  the  other 
States  of  Greece  in  the  age  after  the  Persian  war ; 
suppose  the  school-boy  boast  could  be  achieved,  and 
you  were  the  Athens  of  America ; suppose  the  libra- 
ries, the  schools,  the  teachers,  the  scholars,  were  here, 
the  galleries  of  art,  the  subtle  thinkers,  the  weavers 
i)f  systems,  the  laurelled  brow,  “ the  vision  and  the 
faculty  divine  ; ” siappose  the  whole  body  of  our 
written  productions,  from  newspapers  upwards  or 
downwards,  had  obtained  a recognized  superiority 
over  those  of  any  other  region,  were  purer,  better 
expressed,  more  artist-like,  of  wider  compass ; sup- 
pose that  the  general  taste  of  the  world  and  the 
nation  should  authenticate  and  settle  all  this, — 
would  it  or  would  it  not  profit  you  as  an  instrument 
of  political  ascendency  ? It  would  be  soothing  to  our 
pride,  certainly.  Perhaps  that  would  not  be  all. 
Knowledge  is  power  as  well  as  fame.  You  could 
not,  perhaps,  hold  the  lettered  and  moral  relation  to 
America  which  I have  sketched  — it  is,  alas  ! a sketch 
— without  holding  a political  relation  in  some  degree 
of  correspondence  with  it.  Think  of  that  subtle, 
all-embracing,  plastic,  mysterious,  irresistible  thing 
called  public  opinion,  the  god  of  this  lower  world,  and 
consider  what  a State,  or  a cluster  of  States,  of  marked 
and  acknowledged  literary  and  intellectual  lead,  might 
do  to  color  and  shape  that  opinion  to  their  will. 
Consider  how  winged  are  words,  how  electrical,  light- 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTUKE. 


129 


like  the  speed  of  thought,  how  awful  human  sym- 
path3^  Consider  how  soon  a wise,  a beautiful  thought 
uttered  here,  — a sentiment  of  liberty  perhaps,  or 
word  of  succor  to  the  oppressed,  of  exhortations  to 
duty,  to  patriotism,  to  glor}',  the  refutation  of  a 
sophism,  the  unfolding  of  a truth  for  which  the  nation 
may  be  better,  — how  soon  a word  fitly  or  wisely 
spoken  here  is  read  on  the  Upper  Mississippi  and 
beneath  the  orange-groves  of  Florida,  all  through  the 
unequalled  valley  ; how  vast  an  audience  it  gains,  into 
how  many  bosoms  it  has  access,  on  how  much  good 
soil  the  seed  may  rest  and  spring  to  life,  how  easily 
and  fast  the  fine  spirit  of  truth  and  beauty  goes  all 
abroad  upon  the  face  of  the  world.  Consider  that 
the  meditations  of  a single  closet,  the  pamphlet  of 
a single  writer,  have  inflamed  or  composed  nations 
and  armies,  shaken  thrones,  determined  the  polic}"  of 
governments  for  3’ears  of  war  or  peace.  Consider 
that  the  Drapier’s  Letters  of  Swift  set  Ireland  on  fire, 
cancelled  the  patent  of  George  I.,  inspired  or 
kept  breathing  the  spirit  which  in  a later  day  the 
eloquence  of  Grattan  evoked  to  national  life.  Burke’s 
Reflections  on  the  French  Revolution  began  that 
great  contention  of  nations  that  lasted  a quarter  of  a 
century,  till  the  sun  went  down  on  the  drenched  field 
of  Waterloo.  The  sarcasms  of  Voltaire  had  torn 
away  its  grandeur  from  the  throne,  and  its  sacredness 
from  the  kindred  church,  or  popular  violence  might 
not  have  blown  them  both  into  the  air.  He  who 
guides  public  opinion  moves  the  hand  that  moves  the 
world ! 

There  is  an  influence  which  I would  rather  see 
Massachusetts  exert  on  her  sisters  of  this  Union, 

9 


180 


THE  POWEB  OF  A STATE 


than  see  her  furnish  a President  every  twelve  yisars 
or  command  a majority  on  any  division  in  Congress ; 
and  that  is  such  an  influence  as  Athens  exerted  on 
the  taste  and  opinion  first  of  Greece,  then  of  Rome, 
then  of  the  universal  modern  world ; such  as  she 
will  exert  while  the  race  of  man  exists.  This,  of  all 
the  kinds  of  empire,  was  most  grateful  and  innocent 
and  glorious  and  immortal.  This  was  won  by  no 
bargain,  by  no  fraud,  by  no  war  of  the  Peloponnesus, 
by  the  shedding  of  no  human  blood.  It  would  rest 
on  admiration  of  the  beautiful,  the  good,  the  true  in 
art,  in  poetry,  in  thought ; and  it  would  last  while 
the  emotions,  its  object,  were  left  in  a human  soul. 
It  would  turn  the  eye  of  America  hitherwards  with 
love,  gratitude,  and  tears,  such  as  those  with  which 
we  turn  to  the  walk  of  Socrates  beneath  the  plane- 
tree,  now  sere,  the  summer  hour  of  Cicero,  the  prison 
into  which  philosophy  descended  to  console  the  spirit 
of  Boethius,  that  room  through  whose  opened  win- 
dow came  into  the  ear  of  Scott,  as  he  died,  the  mur- 
mur of  the  gentle  Tweed, — love,  gratitude,  and 
tears,  such  as  we  all  yield  to  those  whose  immortal 
wisdom,  whose  divine  verse,  whose  eloquence  of 
heaven,  whose  scenes  of  many-colored  life,  have  held 
up  the  show  of  things  to  the  insatiate  desires  of  the 
mind,  have  taught  us  how  to  live  and  how  to  die  ! 
Herein  were  power,  herein  were  influence,  herein 
were  security.  Even  in  the  madness  of  civil  war  it 
might  survive  for  refuge  and  defence  ! 

“Lift  not  tliy  spear  against  tiie  Muse’s  bower. 

The  great  Emathian  conqueror  bid  spare 
The  house  of  Pindarus,  when  temple  and  tower 
Went  to  the  ground  And  the  repeated  air  , 

Of  sad  Electra’s  poet  had  the  power 
To  save  the  Athenian  walls  from  ruin  bare.” 


DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


131 


And  now  if  any  one,  any  child  of  Massachusetts, 
looking  round  him  and  forward,  trying  to  cast  the 
horoscope  of  his  local  fortunes,  feels  a sentiment  of 
despondency  upon  his  spirit,  and  thinks  all  this  ex- 
hortation to  mental  culture  as  a means  of  retaining 
endangered  or  receding  power  to  he  but  the  dream 
of  pedantry,  and  begins  to  think  that  if  he  would 
belong  to  a great  State,  an  historical  State,  an  ascen- 
dant State,  he  must  be  setting  out  toward  the  tran- 
quil sea,  — to  him  I say,  turn  back  to  her  origin,  and 
be  of  thy  unfilial  fears  ashamed  ! Thou,  a descend- 
ant of  that  ancestry  of  heroes,  and  already  only  in 
the  two  hundredth  year,  afraid  that  the  State  is  dying 
out ! Do  you  forget  that  it  took  two  hundred  years 
of  training  in  England,  in  Scotland,  in  Geneva,  in 
the  Netherlands,  — two  hundred  years  of  persecu- 
tion, of  life  passed  in  exile  and  in  chains,  of  death 
triumphing  over  fires, — to  form  out  of  the  general 
mind  of  England  these  one  hundred  men  and  women, 
our  fathers  and  mothers,  who  landed  on  the  Rock, 
and  do  you  think  a plant  so  long  in  rearing  has 
begun  already  to  decay? 

It  took  a hundred  and  fifty  years  more,  — one  long 
war,  one  long  labor,  one  long  trial,  one  long  sorrow, 
as  we  count  sorrow,  years  of  want  and  disease,  of 
bereavements,  of  battle,  of  thought,  of  every  heroical 
faculty  tasked  by  every  heroical  labor,  one  long, 
varied,  searching,  tremendous  educational  process, 
just  the  process  to  evolve  and  mature  these  traits  on 
which  a commonwealth  might  repose  for  a thousand 
years  of  glory,  — it  took  all  this  more  to  train  them 
for  the  loftier  sphere,  the  grander  duties,  the  more 
imperial  and  historical  renown,  of  independence  and 


132  THE  STATE  AND  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


union ; and  do  you  think  that  the  energies  of  such 
a nature,  so  tempered  and  refined,  are  become  ex- 
hausted in  half  a century  ? Who  believes  in  such  an 
idle  expenditure  of  preparation  ? Why,  that  would 
be  to  hew  out  a throne  of  granite  on  the  side  of  ever- 
lasting hills  by  the  labor  of  generations,  for  one  old 
king,  the  last  of  his  line,  to  die  on ! No  ; be  true  to 
your  origin  and  to  yourselves,  and  dynasties  shall  fill 
by  successive  accessions  the  prepared  and  steadfast 
seat. 

Doubtless  the  Pilgrim  race,  — the  Puritan  race,  — 
shall  go  everywhere,  and  possess  largely  of  every 
thing.  The  free  North-west,  especially,  will  be 
theirs ; the  skies  of  Ontario  and  Erie  and  Michigan, 
the  prairies  of  Illinois,  the  banks  of  the  river  of 
beauty,  the  mines  of  Wisconsin  and  Iowa,  shall  be 
theirs.  But  the  old  homestead,  and  the  custody  of 
the  Rock,  are  in  the  family  also.  Nearest  of  all  the 
children  to  the  scenes  of  the  fathers’  earthly  life, 
be  it  ours  the  longest  and  the  most  fondly  to  bear 
their  names,  and  hold  fast  their  virtues.  Be  it  ours, 
especially,  to  purify,  enrich,  adorn  this  State,  — our 
own,  our  native  land,  — our  fathers’  monument, — 
our  fathers’  praise ! 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


133 


THE  POSITION  AND  FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  AMERI- 
CAN  BAR,  AS  AN  ELEMENT  OF  CONSERVATISM 
IN  THE  STATE: 

AN  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  LAW  SCHOOL  IN 
CAilBRIDGE,  JULY  3,  1845. 


The  speaker,  on  one  of  the  anniversaries  observed 
by  a literary  association  in  this  ancient  university, 
congratulated  himself,  as  he  cast  his  eye  over  an 
audience  of  taste  and  learning,  that  in  such  company 
he  could  have  no  temptation  to  stray  beyond  the 
walls  of  the  academy,  or  within  the  noise  of  the 
city  and  the  forum.  I have  supposed  that  our  way, 
on  the  contrary,  lies  directly  into  the  city  and  the 
forum.  I have  assumed  that  in  calling  me  to  this 
duty  you  expected  and  designed  that  I should  con- 
sider some  topic  of  a strictly  professional  interest. 
All  the  objects  and  proprieties  of  the  hour  require 
me  to  do  so.  It  is  a seminary  of  the  law,  to  which 
the  day  is  set  apart.  It  is  to  students  of  the  law, 
assembled  in  the  presence  of  teachers  of  the  law,  — 
your  masters  and  my  own,  — and  composing  with 
them  a school  worthy  to  begin  a new  era  of  the 
enriched  and  various  jurisprudence  of  America,  — 
it  is  to  the  members  of  a profession,  that  I address 
myself,  — all  of  you  immersed  in  its  intricate  stud- 
ies, and  fired  by  what  Milton  has  called  its  “ prudent 


134 


CONSERVATIVE  EORCE  OF 


and  heavenly  contemplations.”  Some  of  you  just 
going  forth  to  attempt  its  practice,  to  do  its  hard 
work,  to  kindle  with  its  excitations,  to  be  agitated 
by  its  responsibilities,  to  sound  its  depths  and  shoals 
of  honor,  — and  it  is  therefore  of  things  professional 
that  I seem  to  be  commanded  to  speak.  Doubtless, 
there  is  somewhat  in  the  spirit  of  the  place  that 
might  suggest  the  wish  at  least  for  matter  more 
“ airy  and  delicious.”  I will  not  deny  that  I never 
visit  these  scenes,  so  dear  to  learning,  without  a 
very  vehement  impulse  to  be  disengaged  for  the 
day  from  all  the  idle  business  of  the  law  and  of 
life,  — from  litigious  terms,  fast  contentions,  and 
the  dream  of  “ flowing  fees,”  — from  facts  sometimes 
without  interest,  and  rules  sometimes  without  sense, 
— to  be  disengaged  from  all  this,  and  to  abandon 
myself  evermore  to  the  vernal  faneies  and  sensa- 
tions of  your  time  of  life,  to  the  various  banquet 
of  general  knowledge  on  which  so  many  spirits  have 
been  fed,  to  all  those  fair  ideals  which  once  had 
power  to  toueh  and  All  the  heart.  The  sentiment  is 
not  very  professional ; and  yet  it  is  not  wholly  un- 
countenanced by  authority.  You  remember  that  it 
was  the  great  Chancellor  d’Aguesseau,  who,  full  of 
fame  as  of  years,  at  the  very  summit  of  the  jurispru- 
dence of  France,  the  most  learned  of  her  orators,  the 
most  eloquent  of  her  lawyers,  — in  the  confidence  of 
a letter  to  his  son,  could  confess  that  literature  had 
always  been  to  him  a sort  of  mental  debauch  into 
which  he  perpetually  and  secretly  relapsed.  “ I was 
born,”  he  said,  “ in  the  republic  of  elegant  letters  ; 
there  I grew  to  be  a man  ; there  I passed  the  hap- 
piest years  of  my  life  ; and  to  it  I come  back  as  a 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


135 


wanderer  on  sea  revisits  his  native  land.”  But  these 
were  the  confessions  of  an  illustrious  reputation, 
which  could  afford  to  make  them.  Win  his  fame, 
attain  his  5^ears,  emulate  his  polished  eloquence,  do 
as  much  for  the  law  of  a free  country  as  he  did  for 
that  of  the  despotism  of  Louis  XIV.  and  the  regency, 
and  3mu  may  make  the  same  confession  too.  Mean- 
time, even  here  and  to-day  our  theme,  our  aim,  is 
the  law.  The  literary  influences  and  solicitations  of 
the  scene  and  hour  we  resist  and  expel.  We  put 
them,  one  and  all,  out  of  court.  Academiam  istam 
exoremus  ut  sileat! 

There  are  reasons  without  number  why  we  should 
love  and  honor  our  noble  profession,  and  should  be 
grateful  for  the  necessity  or  felicity  or  accident  which 
called  us  to  its  service. 

But  of  these  there  is  one,  I think,  which,  rightly 
apprehended,  ought  to  be  uppermost  in  every  law- 
j^er’s  mind,  on  which  he  cannot  dwell  too  thought- 
fully and  too  anxiously ; to  which  he  should  resort 
always  to  expand  and  erect  his  spirit  and  to  keep  him- 
self up,  if  I may  say  so,  to  the  height  of  his  calling  ; 
from  which  he  has  a right  to  derive,  in  eveiy  moment 
of  weariness  or  distaste  or  despondency  — not  an 
occasion  of  pride,  but  — ceaseless  admonitions  to 
duty  and  incentives  to  hope.  And  that  reason  is, 
that  better  than  any  other,  or  as  well  as  any  other 
position  or  business  in  the  whole  subordination  of 
life,  Ms  profession  enables  him  to  serve  the  State.  As 
well  as  any  other,  better  than  any  other  profession  or 
business  or  sphere,  more  directly,  more  palpably,  it 
enables  and  commands  him  to  perform  certain  grand 
and  difficult  and  indispensable  duties  of  patriotism, 


136 


CONSEKVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


— certain  grand,  difficult,  and  indispensable  duties 
to  our  endeared  and  common  native  land. 

Turning  for  the  present,  then,  from  other  aspects 
of  the  profession,  survey  it  under  this.  Certainly  it 
presents  no  nobler  aspect.  It  presents  none  so  well 
adapted — I do  not  say,  to  make  us  vain  of  it,  but  — 
to  make  us  fit  for  it,  to  make  us  equal  to  it,  to  put  us 
on  turning  it  to  its  utmost  account,  and  working  out 
its  whole  vast  and  various  and  highest  utilities.  It 
raises  it  from  a mere  calling  by  which  bread,  fame, 
and  social  place  may  be  earned,  to  a function  by 
which  the  republic  may  be  served.  It  raises  it  from 
a dexterous  art  and  a subtle  and  flexible  science  — 
from  a cunning  logic,  a gilded  rhetoric,  and  an  ambi- 
tious learning,  wearing  the  puiqjle  robe  of  the  soph- 
ists, and  letting  itself  to  hire  — to  the  dignity  of 
almost  a department  of  government,  — an  instru- 
mentality of  the  State  for  the  well-being  and  conser- 
vation of  the  State.  Consider  then  the  position  and 
functions  of  the  American  Bar  in  the  Commonwealth. 

I make  haste  to  say  that  it  is  not  at  all  because  the 
legal  profession  may  be  thought  to  be  peculiarly 
adapted  to  fit  a man  for  what  is  technically  called 
“ public  life,”  and  to  afford  him  a ready,  too  ready  an 
introduction  to  it,  — it  is  not  on  any  such  reason  as 
this  that  I shall  attempt  to  maintain  the  sentiment 
which  I have  advanced.  It  is  not  by  enabling  its 
members  to  leave  it  and  become  the  members  of  a 
distinct  profession,  — it  is  not  thus  that  in  the  view 
which  I could  wish  to  exhibit,  it  serves  the  State. 
It  is  not  the  jurist  turned  statesman  whom  I mean  to 
hold  up  to  you  as  useful  to  the  republic,  — although 
jurists  turned  statesmen  have  illustrated  every  page. 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


137 


every  year  of  our  annals,  and  have  taught  how  admir- 
ably the  school  of  the  law  can  tram  the  mind  and 
heart  for  the  service  of  constitutional  liberty  and  the 
achievement  of  civil  honor.  It  is  not  the  jurist 
turned  statesman  ; it  is  the  jurist  as  jurist ; it  is  the 
jurist  remaining  jurist ; it  is  the  bench,  the  magis- 
tracy, the  bar, — the  profession  as  a profession,  and 
in  its  professional  character,  — a class,  a body,  of 
wliich  I mean  exclusively  to  speak ; and  my  position 
is,  that  as  such  it  holds,  or  may  aspire  to  hold,  a 
place,  and  performs  a function  of  peculiar  and  vast 
usefulness  in  the  American  Commonwealth. 

Let  me  premise,  too,  that  instead  of  diffusing  my- 
self in  a display  of  all  the  modes  by  which  the  pro- 
fession of  the  law  may  claim  to  serve  the  State,  I 
shall  consider  but  a single  one,  and  that  is  its  agency 
as  an  element  of  conservation.  The  position  and 
functions  of  the  American  Bar,  then,  as  an  element 
of  conservation  in  the  State,  — this  precisely  and 
singly  is  the  topic  to  which  I invite  your  attention. 

And  is  not  the  profession  such  an  element  of  con- 
servation? Is  not  this  its  characteristical  office  and 
its  appropriate  praise  ? Is  it  not  so  that  in  its  nature, 
in  its  functions,  in  the  intellectual  and  practical 
habits  which  it  forms,  in  the  opinions  to  which  it 
conducts,  in  all  its  tendencies  and  influences  of  spec- 
ulation and  action,  it  is  and  ought  to  be  profession- 
ally and  peculiarly  such  an  element  and  such  an 
agent, — that  it  contributes,  or  ought  to  be  held  to 
contribute,  more  than  all  things  else,  or  as  much  as 
any  thing  else,  to  preserve  our  organic  forms,  our 
civil  and  social  order,  our  public  and  private  justice, 
our  constitutions  of  government,  — even  the  Llnion 


138 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


itself  ? In  these  crises  through  which  our  liberty  is 
to  pass,  may  not,  must  not,  this  function  of  conserva- 
tism become  more  and  more  developed,  and  more  and 
more  operative  ? May  it  not  one  day  be  written,  for 
the  praise  of  the  American  Bar,  that  it  helped  to 
keep  the  true  idea  of  the  State  alive  and  germinant 
in  the  American  mind ; that  it  helped  to  keep  alive 
the  sacred  sentiments  of  obedience  and  reverence 
and  justice,  of  the  supremacy  of  the  calm  and  grand 
reason  of  the  law  over  the  fitful  will  of  the  individual 
and  the  crowd ; that  it  helped  to  withstand  the  per- 
nicious sophism  that  the  successive  generations,  as 
they  come  to  life,  are  but  as  so  many  successive 
flights  of  summer  flies,  without  relations  to  the  past 
or  duties  to  the  futm’e,  and  taught  instead  that  all  — 
all  the  dead,  the  living,  the  unborn  — were  one  moral 
person,  — one  for  action,  one  for  suffering,  one  for 
responsibility,  — that  the  engagements  of  one  age 
may  bind  the  conscience  of  another  ; the  glory  or  the 
shame  of  a day  may  brighten  or  stain  the  current  of 
a thousand  years  of  continuous  national  being? 
Consider  the  profession  of  the  law,  then,  as  an  ele- 
ment of  conservation  in  the  American  State.  I think 
it  is  naturally  such,  so  to  speak ; but  I am  sure  it  is 
our  duty  to  make  and  to  keep  it  such. 

It  may  be  said,  I think  with  some  truth,  of  the  pro- 
fession of  the  Bar,  that  in  all  political  systems  and  in 
all  times  it  has  seemed  to  possess  a twofold  nature  ; 
that  it  has  seemed  to  be  fired  by  the  spirit  of  liberty, 
and  yet  to  hold  fast  the  sentiments  of  order  and  rev- 
erence, and  the  duty  of  subordination;  that  it  has 
resisted  despotism,  and  yet  taught  obedience  ; that  it 
has  recognized  and  vindicated  the  rights  of  man,  and 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


1J9 


yet  has  reckoned  it  always  among  the  most  sacred 
and  most  precious  of  those  rights,  to  be  shielded  and 
led  by  the  divine  nature  and  immortal  reason  of  law ; 
that  it  appreciates  social  progression  and  contributes 
to  it,  and  ranks  in  the  classes  and  with  the  agents  of 
progression,  yet  evermore  counsels  and  courts  perma- 
nence and  conservatism  and  rest ; that  it  loves  light 
better  than  darkness,  and  jmt,  like  the  eccentric  or 
wise  man  in  the  old  historian,  has  a habit  of  looking 
away  as  the  night  wanes  to  the  western  sky,  to  detect 
there  the  first  streaks  of  returnincf  dawn. 

O 

I know  that  this  is  high  praise  of  the  professional 
character ; and  it  is  true.  See  if  there  is  not  some 
truth  in  it.  See  at  least  whether  we  may  not  deserve 
it,  by  a careful  culture  of  the  intrinsical  tendencies 
of  our  habitual  studies  and  employments,  and  all  that 
is  peculiar  to  our  professional  life. 

It  is  certain,  on  the  one  hand,  that  the  sympathies 
of  the  lawyer  in  our  system  are  with  the  people  and 
with  liberty.  They  are  with  the  greatest  number  of 
the  people  ; they  are  with  what  you  call  the  masses  ; 
he  springs  from  them  ; they  are  his  patrons ; their 
favor  gives  him  bread  ; it  gives  him  consideration  ; it 
raises  him,  as  Curran  so  gracefully  said  of  himself, 
“the  child  of  a peasant,  to  the  table  of  his  prince.” 
The  prosperity  of  the  people  employs  and  enriches 
him. 

It  does  not  fall  within  my  immediate  object  to  dwell 
longer  on  this  aspect  of  the  twofold  nature  of  the 
profession  of  the  Bar,  — its  tendencies  and  leanings 
to  the  people  and  to  liberty.  It  might  not  be  unin- 
structive  to  sustain  and  qualify  the  view  by  a glance 
at  a few  remarkable  periods  of  its  history,  under  a 


140 


CONSEKVATIVE  EOKCE  OF 


few  widely  discriminated  political  systems  of  ancient 
States  and  times,  — the  Roman  Bar,  for  example,  be- 
fore and  under  the  earliest  times  of  the  Empire ; the 
French  Bar  at  the  Revolution ; the  American  Bar 
from  the  planting  of  the  colonies.  But  I must  hasten 
to  my  principal  purpose  in  this  address,  — an  exhibi- 
tion of  the  other  aspect  of  the  profession,  its  function 
of  conservatism. 

In  proceeding  to  this,  I think  I may  take  for 
granted  that  conservatism  is,  in  the  actual  circum- 
stances of  this  country,  the  one  grand  and  compre- 
hensive duty  of  a thoughtful  patriotism.  I speak  in 
the  general,  of  course,  not  pausing  upon  little  or  in- 
evitable qualifications  here  and  there,  — not  meaning 
any  thing  so  absurd  as  to  say  that  this  law,  or  that 
usage,  or  that  judgment,  or  that  custom  or  condition, 
might  not  be  corrected  or  expunged,  — not  meaning 
still  less  to  invade  the  domains  of  moral  and  philan- 
thropic reform,  true  or  false.  I speak  of  our  general 
political  system  ; our  organic  forms  ; our  written  con- 
stitutions ; the  great  body  and  the  general  adminis- 
tration of  our  jurisprudence ; the  general  way  in 
which  liberty  is  blended  mth  order,  and  the  principle 
of  progression  with  the  securities  of  permanence  ; the 
relation  of  the  States  and  the  functions  of  the  Union, 
— and  I say  of  it  in  a mass,  that  conservation  is  the 
chief  end,  the  largest  duty,  and  the  truest  glory  of 
American  statesmanship. 

There  are  nations,  I make  no  question,  whose  his- 
tory, condition,  and  dangers  call  them  to  a different 
work.  There  are  those  whom  every  thing  in  their 
lustory,  condition,  and  dangers  admonishes  to  reform 
fundamentally,  if  they  would  be  saved.  With  them 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


141 


the  whole  political  and  social  order  is  to  be  rearranged. 
The  stern  claim  of  labor  is  to  be  provided  for.  Its 
long  antagonism  with  capital  is  to  be  reconciled. 
Property  is  all  to  be  parcelled  out  in  some  nearer 
conformity  to  a parental  law  of  nature.  Conven- 
tional discriminations  of  precedence  and  right  are  to 
be  swept  away.  Old  forms  from  which  the  life  is 
gone  are  to  drop  as  leaves  in  autumn.  Frowning 
towers  nodding  to  their  fall  are  to  be  taken  down. 
Small  freeholds  must  dot  over  and  cut  up  imperial 
parks.  A large  infusion  of  liberty  must  be  poured 
along  these  emptied  veins  and  throb  in  that  great 
heart.  With  those,  the  past  must  be  resigned ; the 
present  must  be  convulsed,  that  “ an  immeasurable 
future,”  as  Carlyle  has  said,  “ may  be  filled  with  fruit- 
fulness and  a verdant  shade.” 

But  with  us  the  age  of  this  mode  and  this  degree 
of  reform  is  over ; its  work  is  done.  The  passage  of 
the  sea,  the  occupation  and  culture  of  a new  world, 
the  conquest  of  independence,  — these  were  our  eras, 
these  our  agency,  of  reform.  In  our  jurisprudence 
of  liberty,  which  guards  our  person  from  violence  and 
our  goods  from  plunder,  and  which  forbids  the  whole 
power  of  the  State  itself  to  take  the  ewe  lamb,  or  to 
trample  on  a blade  of  the  grass  of  the  humblest  citi- 
zen without  adequate  remuneration ; which  makes 
every  dwelling  large  enough  to  shelter  a human  life 
its  owner’s  castle  which  winds  and  rain  may  enter 
but  which  the  government  cannot, — in  our  written 
constitutions,  whereby  the  people,  exercising  an  act 
of  sublime  self-restraint,  have  intended  to  put  it  out 
of  their  own  power  for  ever,  to  be  passionate,  tumul- 
tuous, unwise,  unjust ; whereby  they  have  intended. 


14a 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


by  means  of  a system  of  representation ; by  means 
of  the  distribution  of  government  into  departments, 
independent,  coordinate  for  checks  and  balances ; by 
a double  chamber  of  legislation ; by  the  establish- 
ment of  a fundamental  and  paramount  organic  law ; 
by  the  organization  of  a judiciary  whose  function, 
whose  loftiest  function  it  is  to  test  the  leoislation  of 

O 

the  day  by  this  standard  for  all  time,  — constitutions, 
whereby  by  all  these  means  they  have  intended  to 
secure  a government  of  laws,  not  of  men ; of  reason, 
not  of  will ; of  justice,  not  of  fraud,  — in  that  grand 
dogma  of  equality,  — equality  of  right,  of  burthens, 
of  duty,  of  privileges,  and  of  chances,  which  is  the 
very  mystery  of  our  social  being,  — to  the  Jews,  a 
stumbling-block  ; to  the  Greeks,  foolishness,  — our 
strength,  our  glory,  — in  that  liberty  which  we  value 
not  solely  because  it  is  a natural  right  of  man  ; not 
solely  because  it  is  a principle  of  individual  energy 
and  a guaranty  of  national  renown ; not  at  all  be- 
cause it  attracts  a procession  and  lights  a bonfire, 
but  because,  when  blended  with  order,  attended  by 
law,  tempered  by  virtue,  graced  by  culture,  it  is  a 
great  practical  good  ; because  in  her  right  hand  are 
riches,  and  honor,  and  peace ; because  she  has  come 
down  from  her  golden  and  purple  cloud  to  walk  in 
brightness  by  the  weary  ploughman’s  side,  and  whis- 
per in  his  ear  as  he  casts  the  seed  with  tears,  that  the 
harvest  which  frost  and  mildew  and  canker-worm 
shall  spare,  the  government  shall  spare  also ; in  our 
distribution  into  separate  and  kindred  States,  not 
wholly  independent,  not  quite  identical,  in  “ the  wide 
arch  of  the  ranged  empire  ” above',  — these  are  they 
in  wlaich  the  fruits  of  our  age  and  our  agency  of  re- 


THE  ASIERICAH  BAR. 


143 


form  are  embodied ; and  these  are  they  by  which,  if 
we  are  wise,  — if  we  understand  the  things  that  be- 
long to  our  peace,  — they  may  be  perpetuated.  It  is 
for  this  that  I say  the  fields  of  reform,  the  aims  of 
reform,  the  uses  of  reform  here,  therefore,  are  wholly 
unlike  the  fields,  uses,  and  aims  of  reform  elsewhere. 
Foreign  examples,  foreign  counsel,  — well  or  ill  meant, 
— the  advice  of  the  first  foreign  understandings,  the 
example  of  the  wisest  foreign  nations,  are  worse  than 
useless  for  us.  Even  the  teachings  of  histor}^  are  to 
be  cautiously  consulted,  or  the  guide  of  human  life 
will  lead  us  astray.  We  need  reform  enough.  Heaven 
knows ; but  it  is  the  reformation  of  our  individual 
selves,  the  bettering  of  our  personal  natures;  it  is 
a more  intellectual  industry ; it  is  a more  diffused, 
profound,  and  graceful,  popular,  and  higher  culture ; 
it  is  a 'odder  development  of  the  love  and  discernment 
of  the  beautiful  in  form,  in  color,  in  speech,  and  in  the 
soul  of  man,  — tliis  is  what  we  need,  — personal,  moral, 
mental  reform,  — not  civil  — not  political ! No,  no  ! 
Government,  substantially  as  it  is  ; jurisprudence, 
substantially  as  it  is ; the  general  arrangements  of 
liberty,  substantially  as  they  are  ; the  Constitution 
and  the  Union,  exactly  as  they  are,  — this  is  to  be 
wise,  according  to  the  wisdom  of  America. 

To  the  conservation,  then,  of  this  general  order  of 
things,  I think  the  profession  of  the  Bar  may  be  said 
■to  be  assigned,  for  this  reason,  among  others,  — the 
only  one  which  I shall  seek  to  develop,  — that  its 
studies  and  employments  tend  to  form  in  it  and  fit  it 
to  diffuse  and  impress  on  the  popular  mind  a class  of 
opinions  — one  class  of  opinions  — which  are  indis- 
pensable to  conservation.  Its  studies  and  offices  train 


144 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


and  arm  it  to  counteract  exactly  that  specific  system  of 
o^^inions  by  which  our  liberty  must  die,  and  to  diffuse 
aud  impress  those  by  which  it  may  be  kept  alive. 

By  what  means  a State  with  just  that  quantity  of 
liberty  in  its  constitution  which  belongs  to  the  States 
of  America,  with  just  those  organizations  into  which 
our  polity  is  moulded,  with  just  those  proportions  of 
the  elements  of  law  and  order  and  restraint  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  passionate  love  of  freedom,  and 
quick  and  high  sense  of  personal  independence  on 
the  other, — by  what  means  such  a State  may  be 
preserved  through  a full  lifetime  of  enjoyment  and 
glory,  what  kind  of  death  it  shall  die,  by  what  diag- 
nostics the  approach  of  that  death  may  be  known, 
by  what  conjuration  it  is  for  a space  to  be  chaianed 
away,  through  what  succession  of  decay  and  decadence 
it  shall  at  length  go  down  to  the  tomb  of  the  nations, 
— these  questions  are  the  largest,  pertaining  to  the 
things  of  this  world,  that  can  be  pondered  by  the 
mind  of  man.  More  than  all  others,  too,  they  con- 
found the  wisdom  of  man.  But  some  things  we 
know.  A nation,  a national  existence,  a national 
history,  is  nothing  but  a production,  nothing  but  an 
exponent,  of  a national  mind.  At  the  foundation  of 
all  splendid  and  remarkable  national  distinction  there 
lie  at  last  a few  simple  and  energetic  traits : a proud 
heart,  a resolute  will,  sagacious  thoughts,  reverence, 
veneration,  the  ancient  prudence,  sound  maxims,  true 
wisdom ; and  so  the  dying  of  a nation  begins  in  the 
heart.  There  are  sentiments  concerning  the  true 
idea  of  the  State,  concerning  law,  concerning  liberty, 
concerning  justice,  so  active,  so  mortal,  that  if  they 
pervade  and  taint  the  general  mind,  and  transpire  in 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR.  145 

practical  politics,  the  commonwealth  is  lost  already. 
It  wms  of  these  that  the  democracies  of  Greece,  one 
after  another,  miserably  died.  It  was  not  so  much 
the  spear  of  the  great  Emathian  conqueror  which 
bore  the  beaming  forehead  of  Athens  to  the  dust,  as 
it  was  that  diseased,  universal  opinion,  those  tumult- 
uous and  fraudulent  practical  politics,  which  came  at 
last  to  supersede  the  constitution  of  Solon,  and  the 
equivalents  of  Pericles,  which  dethroned  the  reason  of 
the  State,  shattered  and  dissolved  its  checks,  balances, 
and  securities  against  haste  and  wrong,  annulled 
its  laws,  repudiated  its  obligations,  shamed  away  its 
justice,  and  set  up  instead,  for  rule,  the  passion,  fe- 
rocity, and  caprice,  and  cupidity,  and  fraud  of  a 
flushed  majority,  cheated  and  guided  by  sycophants 
and  demagogues, — it  was  this  diseased  public  opin- 
ion and  these  politics,  its  fruits,  more  deadly  than  the 
gold  or  the  phalanx  of  Philip,  that  cast  her  down 
untimely  from  her  throne  on  high. 

And  now  what  are  these  sentiments  and  opinions 
from  which  the  public  mind  of  America  is  in  danger, 
and  which  the  studies  and  offices  of  our  profession 
have  fitted  us  and  impose  on  us  the  duty  to  en- 
counter and  correct? 

In  the  first  place,  it  has  been  supposed  that  there 
might  be  detected,  not  yet  in  the  general  mind,  but 
in  what  may  grow  to  be  the  general  mind,  a singu- 
larly inadequate  idea  of  the  State  as  an  unchangeable, 
indestructible,  and,  speaking  after  the  manner  of  men, 
an  immortal  thing.  I do  not  refer  at  this  moment 
exclusively  to  the  temper  in  which  the  Federal  Union 
is  regarded,  though  that  is  a startling  illustration  of 
the  more  general  and  deeper  sentiment,  but  I refer  in 

10 


146 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


a larger  view  to  what  some  have  thought  the  popular 
or  common  idea  of  the  civil  State  itself,  its  sacred- 
ness, its  permanence,  its  ends,  — in  the  lofty  phrase 
of  Cicero,  its  eternity.  The  tendency  appears  to  be 
to  regard  the  whole  concern  as  an  association  alto- 
gether at  will,  and  at  the  will  of  everybody.  Its 
boundary  lines,  its  constituent  numbers,  its  physical, 
social,  and  constitutional  identity,  its  polity,  its  law, 
its  continuance  for  ages,  its  dissolution,  — all  these 
seem  to  be  held  in  the  nature  of  so  many  open  ques- 
tions. Whether  our  country  — words  so  simple,  so 
expressive,  so  sacred;  which,  like  father,  child,  wife, 
should  present  an  image  familiar,  endeared,  definite 
to  the  heart  — whether  our  country  shall,  in  the 
course  of  the  next  six  months,  extend  to  the  Pacific 
Ocean  and  the  Gulf,  or  be  confined  to  the  parochial 
limits  of  the  State  where  we  live,  or  have  no  exist- 
ence at  all  for  us  ; where  its  centre  of  power  shall  be  ; 
whose  statues  shall  be  borne  in  its  processions  ; whose 
names,  what  days,  what  incidents  of  glory  commemo- 
rated in  its  anniversaries,  and  what  symbols  blaze  on 
its  flag,  — in  all  this  there  is  getting  to  be  a rather 
growing  habit  of  politic  non-committalism.  Having 
learned  from  Rousseau  and  Locke,  and  our  own  revo- 
lutionary age,  its  theories  and  its  acts,  that  the  State  is 
nothing  but  a contract,  rests  in  contract,  springs  from 
contract ; that  government  is  a contrivance  of  human 
wisdom  for  human  wants ; that  the  civil  life,  like  the 
Sabbath,  is  made  for  man,  not  man  for  either  ; having 
only  about  seventy  years  ago  laid  hold  of  an  arbitrary 
fragment  of  the  British  empire,  and  appropriated  it 
to  ourselves,  which  is  all  the  country  we  ever  had ; 
having  gone  on  enlarging,  doubling,  trebling,  changing 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


147 


all  this  since,  as  a garment  or  a house ; accustomed 
to  encounter  every  day,  at  the  polls,  in  the  market, 
at  the  miscellaneous  banquet  of  our  Liberty  every- 
where, crowds  of  persons  whom  we  never  saw  before, 
strangers  in  the  country,  5mt  just  as  good  citizens  as 
ourselves ; with  a whole  continent  before  us,  or  half 
a one,  to  choose  a home  in ; teased  and  made  peevish 
by  all  manner  of  small,  local  jealousies ; tormented 
by  the  stimulations  of  a revolutionary  philanthropy  ; 
enterprising,  speculative,  itinerant,  improving,  “ stu- 
dious of  change,  and  pleased  with  novelty  ” beyond 
the  general  habit  of  desultory  man ; — it  might  al- 
most seem  to  be  growing  to  be  our  national  humor  to 
hold  ourselves  free  at  every  instant,  to  be  and  do  just 
what  we  please,  go  where  we  please,  stay  as  long  as 
we  please  and  no  longer ; and  that  the  State  itself 
were  held  to  be  no  more  than  an  encampment  of 
tents  on  the  great  prairie,  pitched  at  sundown,  and 
struck  to  the  sharp  crack  of  the  rifle  next  morning, 
instead  of  a structure,  stately  and  eternal,  in  which 
the  generations  may  come,  one  after  another,  to  the 
great  gift  of  this  social  life. 

On  such  sentiments  as  these,  how  can  a towering 
and  durable  fabric  be  set  up?  To  use  the  metaphor 
of  Bacon,  on  such  soil  how  can  “greatness  be  sown”? 
How  unlike  the  lessons  of  the  masters,  at  whose  feet 
you  are  bred  ! The  studies  of  our  profession  have 
taught  us  that  the  State  is  framed  for  a duration 
without  end, — without  end  — till  the  earth  and  the 
heavens  be  no  more.  Sic  constituta  civitas  ut  eterna  ! 
In  the  eye  and  contemplation  of  law,  its  masses  may 
die  ; its  own  corporate  being  can  never  die.  If  we 
inspect  the  language  of  its  fundamental  ordinance. 


148 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


every  word  expects,  assumes,  foretells  a perpetuity, 
lasting  as  “the  great  globe  itself,  and  all  which  it 
inherit.”  If  we  go  out  of  that  record  and  inquire 
for  the  designs  and  the  hopes  of  its  founders  ah  extra, 
we  know  that  they  constructed  it,  and  bequeathed  it, 
for  the  latest  posterity.  If  we  reverently  rise  to  a 
conjecture  of  the  purposes  for  which  the  Ruler  of  the 
world  permitted  and  decreed  it  to  be  instituted,  in 
order  to  discern  how  soon  it  will  have  performed  its 
office  and  may  be  laid  aside,  we  see  that  they  reach 
down  to  the  last  hour  of  the  life  of  the  last  man  that 
shall  live  upon  the  earth  ; that  it  was  designed  by  the 
Infinite  Wisdom,  to  enable  the  generation  who  framed 
it,  and  all  the  generations,  to  perfect  their  social,  moral, 
and  religious  nature  ; to  do  and  to  be  good  ; to  pursue 
liappiness ; to  be  fitted,  by  the  various  discipline  of 
the  social  life,  by  obedience,  by  worship,  for  the  life 
to  come.  When  these  ends  are  all  answered,  the 
State  shall  die ! When  these  are  answered,  intereat 
et  eoncidat  omnis  Me  mundus!  Until  they  are  an- 
swered, esto,  eritque  perpetual 

In  the  next  place,  it  has  been  thought  that  there 
was  developing  itself  in  the  general  sentiment,  and  in 
the  practical  politics  of  the  time,  a tendency  towards 
one  of  those  great  changes  by  which  free  States  have 
oftenest  perished,  — a tendency  to  push  to  excess  the 
distinctive  and  characteristic  principles  of  our  system, 
whereby,  as  Aristotle  has  said,  governments  usually 
perish,  — a tendency  towards  transition  from  the  re- 
publican to  the  democratical  era,  of  the  history  and 
epochs  of  liberty. 

Essentially  and  generally,  it  would  be  pronounced 
by  those  who  discern  it  a tendency  to  erect  the 


THE  AMEKICAN  BAR. 


149 


actual  majority  of  tlie  day  iuto  the  de  jure  and  actual 
government  of  the  day.  It  is  a tendency  to  regard 
the  actual  will  of  that  majority  as  the  law  of  the 
State.  It  is  a tendency  to  regard  the  shortest  and 
simplest  way  of  collecting  that  will,  and  the  prompt- 
est and  most  irresistible  execution  of  it,  as  the  true 
polity  of  liberty.  It  is  a tendency  which,  pressed  to 
its  last  development,  would,  if  considerations  of  mere 
convenience  or  inconvenience  did  not  hinder,  do 
exactly  this : it  would  assemble  the  whole  people  in 
a vast  mass,  as  once  they  used  to  assemble  beneath 
the  sun  of  Athens ; and  there,  when  the  eloquent 
had  spoken,  and  the  wise  and  the  foolish  had  coun- 
selled, would  commit  the  transcendent  questions  of 
war,  peace,  taxation,  and  treaties;  the  disposition  of 
the  fortunes  and  honor  of  the  citizen  and  statesman  ; 
death,  banishment,  or  the  crown  of  gold  ; the  making, 
interpreting,  and  administration  of  the  law ; and  all 
the  warm,  precious,  and  multifarious  interests  of  the 
social  life,  to  the  madness  or  the  jest  of  the  hour. 

I have  not  time  to  present  what  have  been  thought 
to  be  the  proofs  of  the  existence  of  this  tendency ; 
and  it  is  needless  to  do  so.  It  would  be  presumptuous, 
too,  to  speculate,  if  it  has  existence,  on  its  causes  and 
its  issues.  I desire  to  advert  to  certain  particulars 
in  which  it  may  be  analyzed,  and  througli  which  it 
displays  itself,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that  the 
studies,  employments,  and,  so  to  say,  professional 
politics,  of  the  bar  are  essentially,  perhaps  availably, 
antagonistical  to  it,  or  moderative  of  it. 

It  is  said,  then,  that  you  may  remark  this  tendency, 
first,  in  an  inclination  to  depreciate  the  uses  and  usurp 
the  functions  of  those  organic  forms  in  which  the 


150 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


regular,  definite,  and  legally  recognized  powers  of  the 
State  are  embodied,  — to  depreciate  the  uses  and 
usurp  the  function  of  written  constitutions,  limita- 
tions on  the  legislature,  the  distribution  of  govern- 
ment into  departments,  the  independence  of  the 
judiciary,  the  forms  of  orderly  proceeding,  and  all 
the  elaborate  and  costly  apparatus  of  checks  and 
balances,  by  which,  as  I have  said,  we  seek  to  secure 
a government  of  laws  and  not  of  men. 

“ The  first  condition,”  — it  is  the  remark  of  a man 
of  great  genius,  who  saw  very  far  by  glances  into  the 
social  system,  Coleridge,  — “ the  first  condition  in 
order  to  a sound  constitution  of  the  body  politic  is  a 
due  proportion  between  the  free  and  permeative  life 
and  energy  of  the  State  and  its  organized  powers.” 
For  want  of  that  proportion  the  government  of  Ath- 
ens was  shattered  and  dissolved.  For  want  of  that 
proportion  the  old  constitutions  of  Solon,  the  reforms 
of  Clisthenes,  the  sanctity  of  the  Areopagus,  the  tem- 
peraments of  Pericles,  were  burnt  up  in  the  torrent 
blaze  of  an  unmitigated  democracy.  Every  power 
of  the  State  — executive,  legal,  judicial  — was  grasped 
by  the  hundred-handed  assembly  of  the  people.  The 
result  is  in  her  history.  She  became  a byword  of 
dissension  and  injustice  ; and  that  was  her  ruin. 

I wonder  how  long  that  incomprehensible  democ- 
racy would  have  hesitated,  after  the  spirit  of  permea- 
tive liberty  had  got  the  better  of  the  organized  forms, 
upon  our  Spot  Pond,  and  Long  Pond,  and  Charles 
River  water-questions.  This  intolerable  hardship  and 
circumlocution  of  applying  to  a legislature  of  three 
independent  and  coordinate  departments,  sitting  un- 
der a written  constitution,  with  an  independent  ju- 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


151 


diciary  to  hold  it  up  to  the  fundamental  law,  — the 
hardship  of  applying  to  such  a legislature  for  power  to 
bring  water  into  the  city  ; this  operose  machinery  of 
orders  of  notice,  hearings  before  committees,  adverse 
reports,  favorable  reports  rejected,  disagreements  of 
the  two  Houses,  veto  of  Governor,  a charter  saving 
vested  rights  of  other  people,  meetings  of  citizens  in 
wards  to  vote  unawed,  unwatched,  every  man  accord- 
ing to  his  sober  second  thought,  — how  long  do  you 
think  such  conventionalities  as  these  would  have  kept 
that  beautiful,  passionate,  and  self-willed  Athens, 
standing,  like  the  Tantalus  of  her  own  poetry,  plunged 
in  crystal  lakes  and  gentle  historical  rivers  up  to  the 
chin,  perishing  with  thirst?  Why,  some  fine,  sun- 
shiny forenoon,  you  would  have  heard  the  crier  call- 
ing the  people,  one  and  all,  to  an  extraordinary 
assembly,  perhaps  in  the  Piraeus,  as  a pretty  full 
expression  of  public  opinion  was  desirable  and  no 
other  place  would  hold  everybody ; you  would  have 
seen  a stupendous  mass-meeting  roll  itself  together 
as  clouds  before  all  the  winds ; standing  on  the  outer 
edges  of  which  you  could  just  discern  a speaker  or 
two  gesticulating,  catch  a murmur  as  of  waves  on  the 
pebbly  beach,  applause,  a loud  laugh  at  a happy  hit, 
observe  some  six  thousand  hands  lifted  to  vote  or 
swear,  and  then  the  vast  congregation  would  separate 
and  subside,  to  be  seen  no  more.  And  the  whole 
record  of  the  transaction  would  be  made  up  in  some 
half-dozen  lines  to  this  effect,  — it  might  be  in  tEs- 

chines,  — that  in  the  month  of , under  the  archon- 

ate  of , the  tribe  of , exercising  the  office  of 

prytanes , an  extraordinary  assembly  was  called 

to  consult  on  the  aupply  of  water ; and  it  appearing 


152 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OE 


that  some  six  persons  of  great  wealth  and  considera- 
tion had  opposed  its  introduction  for  some  time  past, 
and  were  moreover  vehemently  suspected  of  being  no 
better  than  they  should  be,  it  was  ordained  that  they 
should  be  fined  in  round  sums,  computed  to  be  enough 
to  bring  in  such  a supply  as  would  give  every  man 
equal  to  twenty-eight  gallons  a day ; and  a certain 
obnoxious  orator  having  inquired  what  possible  need 
there  was  for  so  much  a head,  Demades,  the  son  of 
the  Mariner,  replied,  that  that  person  was  the  very 
last  man  in  all  Athens  who  should  put  that  question, 
since  the  assembly  must  see  that  he  at  least  could 
use  it  to  great  advantage  by  washing  his  face,  hands, 
and  robes ; and  thereupon  the  people  laughed  and 
separated. 

And  now  am  I misled  by  the  influence  of  vocation, 
when  I venture  to  suppose  that  the  profession  of  the 
Bar  may  do  somewhat  — should  be  required  to  do 
somewhat  — to  preserve  the  true  proportion  of  liberty 
to  organization,  — to  moderate  and  to  disarm  that 
eternal  antagonism  ? 

These  “ organic  forms  ” of  our  system,  — are  they 
not  in  some  just  sense  committed  to  your  professional 
charge  and  care  ? In  this  sense,  and  to  this  extent, 
does  not  3mur  profession  approach  to,  and  blend  itself 
with,  one,  and  that  not  the  least  in  dignity  and  use- 
fulness, of  the  departments  of  statesmanship  ? Are 
you  ]iot  thus  statesmen  while  you  are  lawyers,  and 
because  you  are  lawyers?  These  constitutions  of 
government  by  which  a free  people  have  had  the 
virtue  and  the  sense  to  restrain  themselves,  — these 
devices  of  profound  wisdom  and  a deep  study  of  man, 
and  of  the  past,  by  which  they  have  meant  to  secure 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


153 


the  ascendency  of  the  just,  lofty,  and  wise,  over  the 
fraudulent,  low,  and  insane,  in  the  long  run  of  our 
practical  politics,  — these  temperaments  by  which 
justice  is  promoted,  and  by  which  liberty  is  made 
possible  and  may  be  made  immortal,  — and  this  jus 
puhlicum,  this  great  written  code  of  public  law,  — are 
they  not  a part,  in  the  strictest  and  narrowest  sense, 
of  the  appropriate  science  of  your  profession?  More 
than  for  any  other  class  or  calling  in  the  community, 
is  it  not  for  you  to  study  their  sense,  comprehend 
their  great  uses,  and  explore  their  historical  origin 
and  illustrations,  — to  so  hold  them  up  as  shields, 
that  no  act  of  legislature,  no  judgment  of  court,  no 
executive  proclamation,  no  order  of  any  functionary 
of  any  description,  shall  transcend  or  misconceive 
them,  — to  so  hold  them  up  before  your  clients  and 
the  public,  as  to  keep  them  at  all  times  living,  intelli- 
gible, and  appreciated  in  the  universal  mind  ? 

Something  such  has,  in  all  the  past  periods  of  our 
history,  been  one  of  the  functions  of  the  American 
Bar.  To  vindicate  the  true  interpretation  of  the 
charters  of  the  colonies,  to  advise  what  forms  of  pol- 
ity, what  systems  of  jurisprudence,  what  degree  and 
what  mode  of  liberty  these  charters  permitted,  — to 
detect  and  expose  that  long  succession  of  infringe- 
ment wliich  grew  at  last  to  the  Stamp  Act  and  Tea 
Tax,  and  compelled  us  to  turn  from  broken  charters 
to  national  independence,  — to  conduct  the  transcend- 
ent controversy  which  preceded  the  Revolution,  that 
grand  appeal  to  the  reason  of  civilization,  — this  was 
the  work  of  our  first  generation  of  lawyers.  To  con- 
struct the  American  constitutions,  — the  higher  praise 
of  the  second  generation.  I claim  it  in  part  for  the 


154 


COKSERVATIVE  FORCE  OE 


sobriety  and  learning  of  the  American  Bar ; for  the 
professional  instinct  towards  the  past ; for  the  pro- 
fessional appreciation  of  order,  forms,  obedience,  re- 
straints ; for  the  more  than  professional,  the  profound 
and  wide  intimacy  with  the  history  of  all  liberty, 
classical,  mediaeval,  and,  above  all,  of  English  lib- 
erty, — I claim  it  in  part  for  the  American  Bar  that, 
springing  into  existence  by  revolution,  — revolution, 
which  more  than  any  thing  and  all  tilings  lacerates 
and  discomposes  the  popular  mind, — justifying  that 
revolution  only  on  a strong  principle  of  natural  right, 
with  not  one  single  element  or  agent  of  monarcliy  or 
aristocracy  on  our  soil  or  in  our  blood,  — I claim  it 
for  the  Bar  that  the  constitutions  of  America  so  nobly 
closed  the  series  of  our  victories ! These  constitu- 
tions owe  to  the  Bar  more  than  their  terse  and  exact 
expression  and  systematic  arrangements  ; they  owe  to 
it,  in  part,  too,  their  elements  of  permanence ; their 
felicitous  reconciliation  of  universal  and  intense  lib- 
erty with  forms  to  enshrine  and  regulations  to  restrain 
it ; their  Anglo-Saxon  sobriety  and  gravity  conveyed 
in  the  genuine  idiom,  suggestive  of  the  grandest  civil 
achievements  of  that  unequalled  race.  To  inteiqiret 
these  constitutions,  to  administer  and  maintain  them, 
this  is  the  office  of  our  age  of  the  profession.  Herein 
have  we  somewhat  wherein  to  glory ; hereby  we 
come  into  the  class  and  share  in  the  dignity  of 
founders  of  States,  of  restorers  of  States,  of  pre- 
servers of  States. 

I said  and  I repeat  that,  while  lawyers,  and  because 
we  are  lawyers,  we  are  statesmen.  We  are  by  pro- 
fession statesmen.  And  who  may  measure  the  value 
of  this  department  of  public  duty  ? Doubtless  in 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


155 


statesmanship  there  are  many  mansions,  and  large 
variety  of  conspicuous  service.  Doubtless  to  have 
■wisely  decided  the  question  of  war  or  peace,  — to 
have  adjusted  by  a skilful  negotiation  a thousand 
miles  of  unsettled  boundary-line,  — to  have  laid  the 
corner-stone  of  some  vast  policy  whereby  the  cur- 
rency is  corrected,  the  finances  enriched,  the  measure 
of  industrial  fame  filled,  — are  large  achievements. 
And  yet  I do  not  know  that  I can  point  to  one 
achievement  of  this  department  of  American  states- 
manship, which  can  take  rank  for  its  consequences 
of  good  above  that  single  decision  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  which  adjudged  that  an  act  of  legislature  con- 
trary to  the  Constitution  is  void,  and  that  the  judicial 
department  is  clothed  with  the  power  to  ascertain 
the  repugnancy  and  to  pronounce  the  legal  conclusion. 
That  the  framers  of  the  Constitution  intended  tliis 
should  be  so,  is  certain  ; but  to  have  asserted  it  against 
the  Congress  and  the  Executive,  — to  have  vindicated 
it  by  that  easy  yet  adamantine  demonstration  than 
which  the  reasonings  of  the  mathematics  show  noth- 
ing surer,  — to  have  inscribed  this  vast  truth  of  con- 
servatism on  the  public  mind,  so  that  no  demagogue, 
not  in  the  last  stage  of  intoxication,  denies  it,  — this 
is  an  achievement  of  statesmanship  of  which  a thou 
sand  years  may  not  exhaust  or  reveal  all  the  good. 

It  has  been  thought,  in  the  next  place,  that  you 
may  remark  this  unfavorable  tendency  in  a certain 
false  and  pernicious  idea  of  law,  which  to  some  extent 
possesses  the  popular  mind,  — law,  its  source,  its  na- 
ture, its  titles  to  reverence.  Consider  it  a moment, 
and  contrast  it  with  our  idea  of  law. 


156 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


It  is  one  of  the  distemperatures  to  which  an  unrea- 
soning liberty  may  grow,  no  doubt,  to  regard  law  as 
no  more  nor  less  than  just  the  will  — the  actual  and 
present  will  — of  the  actual  majority  of  the  nation. 
The  majority  govern.  What  the  majority  pleases,  it 
may  ordain.  What  it  ordains  is  law.  So  much  for 
the  source  of  law,  and  so  much  for  the  nature  of  law. 
But,  then,  as  law  is  nothing  but  the  will  of  a major 
number,  as  that  will  differs  from  the  will  of  yesterday, 
and  will  differ  from  that  of  to-morrow,  and  as  all  law 
is  a restraint  on  natural  right  and  personal  indepen- 
dence, how  can  it  gain  a moment’s  hold  on  the  reve- 
rential sentiments  of  the  heart,  and  the  profounder 
coiiAdctions  of  the  judgment?  How  can  it  impress  a 
filial  awe  ; how  can  it  conciliate  a filial  love;  how  can 
it  sustain  a sentiment  of  veneration ; how  can  it  com- 
mand a rational  and  animated  defence?  Such  senti- 
ments are  not  the  stuff  from  which  the  immortality 
of  a nation  is  to  be  woven ! Oppose  now  to  this  the 
loftier  philosophy  which  we  have  learned.  In  the 
language  of  our  system,  the  law  is  not  the  transient 
and  arbitrar}’’  creation  of  the  major  will,  nor  of  any 
will.  It  is  not  the  offspring  of  will  at  all.  It  is  the 
absolute  justice  of  the  State,  enlightened  by  the  per- 
fect reason  of  the  State.  That  is  law.  Enlightened 
justice  assisting  the  social  nature  to  perfect  itself  by 
the  social  life.  It  is  ordained,  doubtless,  that  is,  it  is 
chosen,  and  is  ascertained  by  the  wisdom  of  man. 
But,  then,  it  is  the  master- work  of  man.  Quce  est 
enim  istorum  oratio  tarn  exquisita,  quce  sit  anteponenda 
hene  constitutce  civitati  puhlico  jure,  et  moribusf^ 

1 Cicero  de  Republica,  I.  2. 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


157 


By  the  costly  and  elaborate  contrivances  of  our  con- 
stitutions we  have  sought  to  attain  the  transcendent 
result  of  extracting  and  excluding  haste,  injustice, 
revenge,  and  folly  from  the  place  and  function  of 
giving  the  law,  and  of  introducing  alone  the  reason 
and  justice  of  the  wisest  and  the  best.  By  the  aid 
of  time,  — time  which  changes  and  tries  all  things; 
tries  them,  and  works  them  pure,  — we  subject  the 
law,  after  it  is  given,  to  the  tests  of  old  experience, 
to  the  reason  and  justice  of  successive  ages  and  gen 
erations,  to  the  best  thoughts  of  the  wisest  and  safest 
of  reformers.  And  then  and  thus  we  pronounce  it 
good.  Then  and  thus  we  cannot  choose  but  reverence, 
obey,  and  enforce  it.  We  would  grave  it  deep  into 
the  heart  of  the  undying  State.  We  would  strengthen 
it  by  opinion,  by  manners,  by  private  virtue,  by  habit, 
by  the  awful  hoar  of  innumerable  ages.  All  that 
attracts  ns  to  life,  all  that  is  charming  in  the  perfected 
and  adorned  social  nature,  we  wisely  think  or  we 
wisely  dream,  we  owe  to  the  all-encircling  presence 
of  the  law.  Not  even  extravagant  do  we  think  it  to 
hold,  that  the  Divine  approval  may  sanction  it  as  not 
unworthy  of  the  reason  which  we  derive  from  His 
own  nature.  Not  extravagant  do  we  hold  it  to  say, 
that  there  is  thus  a voice  of  the  people  which  is  the 
voice  of  God. 

Doubtless  the  known  historical  origin  of  the  law 
contributes  to  this  opinion  of  it.  Consider  for  a 
moment  — what  that  law  really  is,  what  the  vast 
body  of  that  law  is,  to  the  study  and  administration 
of  which  the  lawyer  gives  his  whole  life,  by  which  he 
has  trained  his  mind,  established  his  fortune,  won  his 
fame,  the  theatre  of  all  his  triumphs,  the  means  of  all 


158 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


]iis  usefulness,  the  theme  of  a thousand  earnest  pane- 
gyrics, — what  is  that  law  ? INIainly,  a body  of  di- 
gested rules  and  processes  and  forms,  bequeathed  by 
what  is  for  us  the  old  and  past  time,  not  of  one  age, 
but  all  the  ages  of  the  past,  — a vast  and  multifarious 
aggregate,  some  of  which  you  trace  above  the  pyra- 
mids, above  the  flood,  the  inspired  wisdom  of  the 
primeval  East ; some  to  the  scarcely  yet  historical 
era  of  Pythagoras,  and  to  Solon  and  Socrates ; more 
of  it  to  the  robust,  practical  sense  and  justice  of 
Rome,  the  lawgiver  of  the  nations ; more  still  to  the 
teeming  birthtime  of  the  modern  mind  and  life ; all 
otit  to  some  epoch ; some  of  it  to  every  epoch  of  the 
past  of  which  history  keeps  the  date.  In  the  way  in 
which  it  comes  down  to  us,  it  seems  one  mighty  and 
continuous  stream  of  experience  and  reason,  accumu- 
lated, ancestral,  widening  and  deepening  and  washing 
itself  clearer  as  it  runs  on,  the  grand  agent  of  civili- 
zation, the  builder  of  a thousand  cities,  the  guardian 
angel  of  a hundred  generations,  our  own  hereditary 
laws.  To  revere  such  a system,  would  be  natural 
and  professional,  if  it  were  no  more.  But  it  is  rea- 
sonable, too.  There  is  a deep  presumption  in  favor 
of  that  which  has  endured  so  long.  To  say  of  any 
thing,  that  it  is  old,  and  to  leave  the  matter  there,  — 
an  opinion,  a polity,  a code,  a possession,  a book,  — is 
to  say  nothing  of  praise  or  blame.  But  to  have  lived 
for  ages ; to  be  alive  to-day,  — in  a real  sense  alive, 
— alive  in  the  hearts,  in  the  reason  of  to-day ; to  have 
lived  through  ages,  not  swathed  in  gums  and  spices 
and  enshrined  in  chambers  of  pyramids,  but  through 
ages  of  unceasing  contact  and  sharp  trial  with  the 
passions,  interests,  and  affairs  of  the  great  world ; to 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


159 


have  lived  through  the  drums  and  tramplings  of  con- 
quests, through  revolution,  reform,  through  cycles  of 
opinion  running  their  round ; to  have  lived  under 
many  diverse  systems  of  policy,  and  have  survived 
the  many  transmigrations  from  one  to  another ; to 
have  attended  the  general  progress  of  the  race,  and 
shared  in  its  successive  ameliorations,  — thus  to  have 
gathered  upon  itself  the  approbation  or  the  senti- 
ments and  reason  of  all  civilization  and  all  humanity, 
— that  is,  per  se,  a prima-faoie  title  to  intelligent 
regard.  There  is  a virtue,  there  is  truth,  in  that 
effacing  touch  of  time.  It  bereaves  us  of  our  beauty; 
it  calls  our  friends  from  our  side,  and  we  are  alone  ; it 
changes  us,  and  sends  us  away.  But  spare  what 
it  spares.  Spare  till  you  have  proved  it.  Where 
that  touch  has  passed  and  left  no  wrinkle  nor  spot  of 
decay,  what  it  has  passed  and  left  ameliorated  and 
beautified,  whatever  it  be,  stars,  sea,  the  fame  of  the 
great  dead,  the  State,  the  law,  which  is  the  soul  of  the 
State,  be  sure  that  therein  is  some  spark  of  an  im- 
mortal life. 

It  is  certain  that  in  the  American  theory,  the  free 
theory  of  government,  it  is  the  right  of  the  people,  at 
any  moment  of  its  representation  in  the  legislature, 
to  make  all  the  law,  and,  by  its  representatives  in 
conventions,  to  make  the  Constitution  anew.  It  is 
their  right  to  do  so  peaceably  and  according  to  exist- 
ing forms,  and  to  do  it  by  revolution  against  all 
forms.  This  is  the  theory.  But  I do  not  know  that 
any  wise  man  would  desire  to  have  this  theory  every 
day,  or  ever,  acted  upon  up  to  its  whole  extent,  or  to 
have  it  eternally  pressed,  promulgated,  panegyi’ized 
as  the  grand  peculiarity  and  chief  privilege  of  our 


160 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


condition.  Acting  upon  this  theory,  we  have  made 
our  constitutions,  founded  our  policy,  written  the 
great  body  of  our  law,  set  our  whole  government 
going.  It  worhed  well.  It  works  to  a charm.  I do 
not  know  that  any  man  dis^^lays  wisdom  or  common 
sense,  by  all  the  while  haranguing  and  stimulating 
the  people  to  change  it.  I do  not  appreciate  the 
sense  or  humanity  of  all  the  while  bawling:  true, 
your  systems  are  all  good ; life,  character,  propert}^, 
all  safe,  — but  you  have  the  undoubted  right  to  rub 
all  out  and  begin  again.  If  I see  a man  quietly  eat- 
ing his  dinner,  I do  not  know  why  I should  tell  him 
that  there  is  a first-rate,  extreme  medicine,  prussic 
acid,  aquafortis,  or  what  not,  which  he  has  a perfectly 
good  right  to  use  in  any  quantity  he  pleases ! If  a 
man  is  living  happily  with  his  wife,  I don’t  know  why 
I should  go  and  say : yes,  I see  ; beautiful  and  vir- 
tuous ; I congratulate  you,  — but  let  me  say,  you  can 
get  a perfectly  legal  divorce  by  going  to  Vermont, 
New  Jersey,  or  Pennsylvania.  True  wisdom  would 
seem  to  advise  the  culture  of  dispositions  of  rest, 
contentment,  conservation.  True  wisdom  would  ad- 
vise to  lock  up  the  extreme  medicine  till  the  attack 
of  the  alarming  malady.  True  wisdom  would  advise 
to  place  the  power  of  revolution,  overturning  all  to 
begin  anew,  rather  in  the  background,  to  throw  over 
it  a politic,  well-wrought  veil,  to  reserve  it  for  crises, 
exigencies,  the  rare  and  distant  days  of  great  historical 
epochs.  These  great,  transcendental  rights  should  be 
preserved,  must  be,  will  be.  But  perhaps  you  would 
place  them  away,  reverentially,  in  the  profoundest 
recesses  of  the  chambers  of  the  dead,  down  in  deep 
vaults  of  black  marble,  lighted  by  a single  silver 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


161 


lamp, — as  in  that  vision  of  the  Gothic  king,  — to 
which  wise  and  brave  men  may  go  down,  in  the  honr 
of  extremity,  to  evoke  the  tremendous  divinities  of 
change  from  theii’  sleep  of  ages. 

“Ni  facial,  maria,  ac  terras,  ccelumque  profunclum, 

Quippe  ferant  rapidi  secum,  verrantque  per  auras.”  i 

To  appreciate  the  conservative  agency  and  func- 
tions of  the  legal  profession,  however,  it  is  time  to 
pass  from  an  analysis  of  the  sentiments  and  opinions 
which  distinguish  it,  to  the  occupation  by  which  it 
is  employed.  The  single  labor  of  onr  lives  is  the 
administration  of  the  law ; and  the  topic  on  wdrich 
I wish  to  say  a word  in  conclusion  is,  the  influence  of 
the  actual  administration  of  law  in  this  country  on 
the  duration  of  onr  free  systems  themselves.  The 
topic  is  large  and  high,  and  well  deserves  what  I may 
not  now  attempt,  a profound  and  exact  discussion. 

I do  not  know  that  in  all  the  elaborate  policy  by 
which  free  States  have  sought  to  preserve  themselves, 
there  is  one  device  so  sure,  so  simple,  so  indispensable, 
as  justice,  — justice  to  all ; justice  to  foreign  nations 
of  whatever  class  of  greatness  or  weakness ; justice 
to  public  creditors,  alien  or  native ; justice  to  every 
individual  citizen,  down  to  the  feeblest  and  the  least 
beloved ; justice  in  the  assignment  of  political  and 
civil  right,  and  place,  and  opportunity ; justice  be- 
tween man  and  man,  every  man  and  every  other,  — 
to  observe  and  to  administer  this  virtue  steadily,  uni- 
formly, and  at  whatever  cost,  — this,  the  best  policy 
and  the  flnal  course  of  all  governments,  is  pre-emin- 
ently the  policy  of  free  governments.  Much  the 
1 .®n.  I.  58,  59. 

11 


162 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


most  specious  objection  to  free  systems  is,  that  they 
have  been  observed  in  the  long  run  to  develop  a 
tendency  to  some  mode  of  injustice.  Resting  on  a 
truer  theory  of  natural  right  iu  their  constitutional 
construction  than  any  other  polity,  founded  in  the 
absolute  and  universal  equality  of  man,  and  per- 
meated and  tinged  and  all  astir  with  this  principle 
through  all  their  frame,  and,  so  far,  more  nobly  just 
than  any  other,  the  doubt  which  history  is  supposed 
to  suggest  is,  whether  they  do  not  reveal  a tendency 
towards  injustice  in  other  ways.  Whether  they  have 
been  as  uniformly  true  to  their  engagements.  Whether 
property  and  good  name  and  life  have  been  quite  as 
safe.  Whether  the  great  body  of  the  jus  -privatum 
has  been  as  skilfully  composed  and  rigorously  ad- 
ministered as  under  the  less  reasonable  and  attractive 
s3^stems  of  absolute  rule.  You  remember  that  Aris- 
totle, looking  back  on  a historical  experience  of  all 
sorts  of  governments  extending  over  many  jmars  — 
Aristotle  who  went  to  the  court  of  Philip  a republi- 
can, and  came  back  a republican  — records,  in  his 
Politics,  injustice  as  the  grand  and  comprehensive 
cause  of  the  downfall  of  democracies.  The  historian 
of  the  Italian  democracies  extends  the  remark  to 
them.  That  all  States  should  be  stable  in  proportion 
as  they  are  just,  and  in  proportion  as  they  administer 
justly,  is  what  might  be  asserted. 

If  this  end  is  answered ; if  every  man  has  his  own 
exactly  and  uniformly,  absolutism  itself  is  found  tol- 
erable. If  it  is  not,  liberty  — slavery,  are  but  dreary 
and  transient  things.  Placida  quies  sub  libertate,  in 
the  words  of  Algernon  Sydney  and  of  the  seal  of 
Massachusetts,  — that  is  the  union  of  felicities  which 


THE  AjrERICAN  BAR. 


163 


should  make  the  State  immortal.  Whether  Repub- 
lics have  usually  perished  from  injustice,  need  not  be 
debated.  One  there  was,  the  most  renowned  of  all, 
that  certainly  did  so.  The  injustice  practised  by  the 
Athens  of  the  age  of  Demosthenes  upon  its  citizens, 
and  suffered  to  be  practised  by  one  another,  was  as 
marA^ellous  as  the  capacities  of  its  dialect,  as  the 
eloquence  by  which  its  masses  were  regaled,  and 
swayed  this  way  and  that  as  clouds,  as  waves, — 
marvellous  as  the  long  banquet  of  beauty  in  which 
they  revelled,  — as  their  love  of  Athens,  and  their 
passion  of  glory.  There  was  not  one  day  in  the 
whole  public  life  of  Demosthenes  when  the  fortune, 
the  good  name,  the  civil  existence  of  any  consider- 
able man  was  safer  there  than  it  would  have  been  at 
Constantinople  or  Cairo  under  the  very  worst  forms 
of  Turkish  rule.  There  was  a sycophant  to  accuse, 
a demagogue  to  prosecute,  a fickle,  selfish,  necessitous 
court  — no  court  at  all,  only  a commission  of  some 
hundreds  or  thousands  from  the  public  assembly  sit- 
ting in  the  sunshine,  directly  interested  in  the  cause 
— to  pronounce  judgment.  And  he  who  rose  rich  and 
honored  might  be  flying  at  night  for  his  life  to  some 
Persian  or  Macedonian  outpost,  to  die  by  poison  on 
his  way  in  the  temple  of  Neptune. 

Is  there  not  somewhat  in  sharing  in  that  adminis- 
tration, observing  and  enjoying  it,  which  tends  to 
substitute  in  the  professional  and  in  the  popular  mind, 
in  place  of  the  wild  consciousness  of  possessing  sum- 
mary power,  idtimate  power,  the  wild  desire  to  exert 
it,  and  to  grasp  and  subject  all  things  to  its  rule,  — 
to  substitute  for  this  the  more  conservative  sentiments 
of  reverence  for  a law  independent  of,  and  distinct 


164 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF 


from,  and  antagonistical  to,  the  humor  of  the  hour  ? 
Is  there  not  something  in  the  study  and  administra- 
tive enjoyment  of  an  elaborate,  rational,  and  ancient 
jurisprudence,  which  tends  to  raise  the  law  itself,  in 
the  professional  and  in  the  general  idea,  almost  up  to 
the  nature  of  an  independent,  superior  reason,  in  one 
sense  out  of  the  people,  in  one  sense  above  them,  — 
out  of  and  above,  and  independent  of,  and  collateral  to, 
the  people  of  any  given  day  ? In  all  its  vast  volumes 
of  provisions,  very  little  of  it  is  seen  to  be  produced 
by  the  actual  will  of  the  existing  generation.  The 
first  thing  we  know  about  it  is,  that  we  are  actually 
being  governed  by  it.  The  next  thing  we  know  is, 
we  are  rightfully  and  beneficially  governed  by  it. 
We  did  not  help  to  make  it.  No  man  now  living 
helped  to  make  much  of  it.  The  judge  does  not 
make  it.  Like  the  structure  of  the  State  itself,  we 
found  it  around  us  at  the  earliest  dawn  of  reason, 
it  guarded  the  helplessness  of  our  infancy,  it  re- 
strained the  passions  of  our  youth,  it  protects  the 
acquisitions  of  our  manhood,  it  shields  the  sanctity 
of  the  grave,  it  executes  the  will  of  the  departed. 
Invisible,  omnipresent,  a real  yet  impalpable  existence, 
it  seems  more  a spirit,  an  abstraction,  — the  whispered 
yet  authoritative  voice  of  all  the  past  and  all  the 
good,  — than  like  the  transient  contrivance  of  alto- 
gether such  as  ourselves.  We  come  to  think  of  it, 
not  so  much  as  a set  of  provisions  and  rules  which 
we  can  unmake,  amend,  and  annul,  as  of  a guide 
whom  it  is  wiser  to  follow,  an  authority  whom  it  is 
better  to  obey,  a wisdom  which  it  is  not  unbecoming 
to  revere,  a power  — a superior  — whose  service  is 
perfect  freedom.  Thus  at  last  the  spirit  of  the  law 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


165 


descends  into  the  great  heart  of  the  people  for  heal- 
ing and  for  conservation.  Hear  the  striking  platon- 
isms of  Coleridge : “ Strength  may  be  met  with 
strength  : the  power  of  inflicting  pain  may  he  baffled 
by  the  pride  of  endurance  : the  eye  of  rage  may  be 
answered  by  the  stare  of  defiance,  or  tlie  downcast 
look  of  dark  and  revengeful  resolve:  and  with  all 
this  there  is  an  outward  and  determined  object  to 
which  the  mind  can  attach  its  passions  and  purposes, 
and  bury  its  own  disquietudes  in  the  full  occupation 
of  the  senses.  But  who  dares  struggle  with  an  in- 
visible combatant,  with  an  enemy  which  exists  and 
makes  us  know  its  existence,  but  ivliere  it  is  we  ask 
in  vain?  No  space  contains  it,  time  promises  no  con- 
trol over  it,  it  has  no  ear  for  my  threats,  it  has  no 
substance  that  my  hands  can  grasp  or  my  weapons 
find  vulnerable  ; it  commands  and  cannot  be  com- 
manded, it  acts  and  is  insusceptible  of  my  reaction, 
the  more  I strive  to  subdue  it,  the  more  am  I com- 
pelled to  think  of  it,  and,  the  more  I think  of  it,  the 
more  do  I find  it  to  possess  a reality  out  of  myself, 
and  not  to  be  a phantom  of  my  own  imagination  ; — 
that  all  but  the  most  abandoned  men  acknowledge  its 
authority,  and  that  the  whole  strength  and  majesty  of 
my  country  are  pledged  to  support  it ; and  yet  that 
for  me  its  power  is  the  same  with  that  of  my  own 
permanent  self,  and  that  all  the  choice  which  is  per- 
mitted to  me  consists  in  having  it  for  m}^  guardian 
angel  or  my  avenging  fiend.  This  is  the  spirit  of 
Law,  — the  lute  of  Amphion,  — the  harp  of  Orpheus. 
This  is  the  true  necessity  which  compels  man  into  the 
social  state,  now  and  always,  by  a still  beginning, 
never  ceasing,  force  of  moral  cohesion.”  ^ 

1 The  Eriend. 


166 


THE  AMERICAN  BAR. 


In  supposing  tliat  conservation  is  the  grand  and 
prominent  public  function  of  the  American  Bar  in 
the  State,  I have  not  felt  that  I assigned  to  a profes- 
sion, to  which  I count  it  so  high  a privilege  to  belong, 
a part  and  a duty  at  all  beneath  its  loftiest  claims.  I 
shall  not  deny  that  to  found  a State  which  grows  to 
be  a nation,  on  the  ruins  of  an  older,  or  on  a waste  of 
earth  where  was  none  before,  is,  intrinsically  and  in 
the  judgment  of  the  world,  of  the  largest  order  of 
human  achievements.  Of  the  chief  of  men  are  the 
conditores  imperiorum.  But  to  keep  the  city  is  only 
not  less  difficult  and  glorious  than  to  build  it.  Both 
rise,  in  the  estimate  of  the  most  eloquent  and  most 
wise  of  Romans,  to  the  rank  of  divine  achievement. 
I appreciate  the  uses  and  the  glory  of  a great  and 
timely  reform.  Thrice  happy  and  honored  who  leaves 
the  Constitution  better  than  he  found  it.  But  to  find 
it  good  and  keep  it  so,  this,  too,  is  virtue  and  praise. 

It  was  the  boast  of  Augustus,  — as  Lord  Brougham 
remembers  in  the  close  of  his  speech  on  the  improve- 
ment of  the  law,  — that  he  found  Rome  of  brick  and 
left  it  of  marble.  Ay.  But  he  found  Rome  free,  and 
left  her  a slave.  He  found  her  a republic,  and  left 
her  an  empire ! He  found  the  large  soul  of  Cicero 
unfolding  the  nature,  speaking  the  high  praise,  and 
recording  the  maxims  of  regulated  liberty,  with  that 
eloquence  which  so  many  millions  of  hearts  have 
owned,  — and  he  left  poets  and  artists!  We  find 
our  city  of  marble,  and  we  will  leave  it  marble.  Yes, 
all,  all,  up  to  the  grand,  central,  and  eternal  dome ; 
we  will  leave  it  marble,  as  we  find  it.  To  that  office, 
to  that  praise,  let  even  the  claims'  of  your  profession 
be  subordinated.  Pro  clientibus  soppe ; pro  lege,  pro 
republica  semper. 


ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.  167 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY 
PERIODS  : 

A LECTURE  DELR^ERED  BEFORE  THE  MECHANIC  APPREN- 
TICES’ LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION,  FEBRUARY  19,  1867. 


If  you  consider  deliberative  eloquence,  in  its  highest 
forms  and  noblest  exertion,  to  be  the  utterances  of 
men  of  genius  practised,  earnest,  and  sincere,  accord- 
ing to  a rule  of  art,  in  presence  of  large  assemblies, 
in  great  conjunctures  of  public  affairs,  to  persuade  a 
People,  it  is  quite  plain  that  those  largest  of  all  con- 
junctures, which  you  properly  call  times  of  revolution, 
must  demand  and  supply  a deliberative  eloquence  all 
their  own. 

All  kinds  of  genius,  — I mean  of  that  genius  whose 
organ  is  art  or  language,  and  whose  witness,  hearer, 
and  judge  is  the  eye,  ear,  imagination,  and  heart  of 
cultivated  humanity,  — if  cast  on  a marked  and  stormy 
age,  an  age  lifted  above  and  out  of  the  even,  general 
flow  of  prescriptive  life,  by  great  changes,  new  ideas, 
and  strong  passions,  extraordinary  abilities  and  enter- 
prises, some  grand  visible  revelation  of  the  death- 
throes,  birth-times,  in  which  an  old  creation  passes 
away  and  a new  one  comes  to  light,  — all  kinds  of 
such  genius,  cast  on  such  an  age,  are  tinged  and 
moulded  by  it.  None  so  hardy,  none  so  spiritual, 
none  so  individualized,  none  so  self-nourished,  none 


168 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OE 


SO  immersed  in  its  own  consciousness,  subjectivity, 
and  self-admiration,  as  not  to  own  and  bow  to  the 
omnipresent  manifested  spirit  of  the  time.  Goethe, 
Byron,  Alfieri,  the  far  mightier  Milton,  are  ready 
illustrations  of  this.  Between  them  and  that  crisis 
of  the  nations,  and  of  the  race  in  which  they  lived, 
on  which  they  looked  fascinated,  entranced,  how  in- 
fluencive  and  inevitable  the  sympathy ! Into  that 
bright  or  dim  dream  of  enchantment,  invention, 
ideality,  in  which  was  their  poet-life,  how  are  the 
shapes  of  this  outward  world  projected,  how  its  cries 
of  despair  or  triumph  reecho  there,  that  new  heaven 
and  new  earth,  their  dwelling-place ; how  they  give 
back  the  cloud  and  storm,  the  sunshine  and  waning 
moon ; how  they  breathe  the  gales,  and  laugh  with 
the  flowers,  and  sadden  with  the  wastes,  of  our  earth 
and  sky ! Topics,  treatment,  thoughts,  characters, 
moods,  — how  they  all  but  imitate  and  reproduce  the 
real  in  the  ideal,  life  in  immortality.  Take  the  ex- 
traordinary instance  of  Milton.  That  England  of  the 
great  Civil  War,  the  England  of  the  Commonwealth 
and  Cromwell,  that  England  which  saw  the  king  dis- 
crowned and  beheaded,  the  House  of  Lords  abolished, 
Puritanism  triumphant  on  the  bloody  days  of  Worces- 
ter and  Dunbar,  the  deliberations  of  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment, the  Westminster  Assembly  constructing  and 
promulgating  its  creed  on  the  awful  mysteries, — how 
does  the  presence  and  influence  of  that  England  seem 
to  haunt  you  in  “ Samson  Agonistes,”  in  “ Paradise 
Lost,”  in  “Paradise  Regained,”  — a memory,  a sense 
of  earth  revived  in  the  peace  of  the  world  beyond 
the  grave,  ages  after  death ! Milton’s  soul,  if  ever 
mortal  spirit  did  so,  was  “ a star,  and  dwelt  apart.” 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


169 


Yet  everywhere,  almost,  — in  the  dubious  war  on  the 
plains  of  heaven  ; in  the  debates  of  the  synod  of  fallen 
demigods;  in  the  tremendous  conception  of  that  pride 
and  will  and  self-trust,  which  rose  in  the  Archangel 
ruined  against  the  Highest;  in  those  dogmas  and 
those  speculations  of  theology  which  wander  unrest- 
ing, unanswered,  through  eternity ; in  that  tone  of 
austere  independence  and  indignant  insubordination, 
obedient,  however,  to  a higher  law  and  a diviner  vis- 
ion ; in  that  contempt  of  other  human  judgments, 
and  defiant  enunciation  of  its  own,  — everywhere 
you  seem  to  meet  the  Puritan,  the  Repi^blican,  the 
defender  of  the  claim  of  the  people  of  England  to  be 
free ; the  apologist,  the  advocate  of  the  execution  of 
kings ; the  champion  in  all  lands  and  all  ages  of  the 
liberty  of  conscience,  of  speech,  of  the  press ; the 
secretary,  the  counsellor  of  Cromwell ; the  child, 
organ,  memorial  of  the  age.  That  heroic  individ- 
uality, what  was  it  but  the  product  of  a hard,  unac- 
commodating, original,  mighty  nature,  moulded  and 
tinged  by  the  tragic  and  sharp  realities  of  national 
revolution?  and  it  seems  to  go  with  him,  partaking 
of  its  mixed  original,  whithersoever  the  song  wanders, 
soars,  or  sinks,  — in  the  paths  of  Eden,  on  the  “peril- 
ous edge  of  battle  ” waged  for  the  throne  of  God,  in 
reporting  the  counsels  of  the  Infinite  in  the  past  eter- 
nity, in  hailing  the  Holy  Light  on  which  those  orbs, 
overplied,  as  he  consoled  himself,  in  liberty’s  defence, 
were  closed  for  ever. 

So,  too,  of  the  lesser  but  yet  resplendent  names  of 
Goethe,  Byron,  Alfieri : the  spirit  of  the  time  was  as 
vehement  in  them  as  it  was  in  the  young  Napoleon. 
They  shared  its  fire,  its  perturbed  and  towering  mind, 


170 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


its  longings,  its  free  thinking,  its  passion  of  strong 
sensations,  its  deep  insights,  its  lust  of  power  and  of 
change,  and  all  its  dark  unrest,  as  fully  as  he  did  ; and 
they  uttered  its  voices  in  those  troubled,  unequalled 
songs,  as  Tie  uttered  them  first  at  Marengo  and  Lodi 
hy  the  cannon  of  his  victories. 

Sometimes  the  blessedness  of  that  great  calm  which 
follows  the  exhausted  tempest  of  the  moral  heaven, 
in  which  the  winds  go  down  and  the  billows  rock 
themselves  to  sleep,  is  imaged  in  the  poems  of  an 
age.  That  most  consummate  effort  of  the  finer  genius 
of  Rome,  — the  Georgies  of  Virgil,  for  example, — 
that  decorated,  abundant,  and  contented  Italy  that 
smiles  there ; the  cattle,  larger  and  smaller,  on  so 
many  hills ; the  holidays  of  vintage ; the  murmur  of 
bees  ; the  happy  husbandman  ; the  old,  golden  age  of 
Saturn  returning,  — what  is  all  that  but  the  long  sigh 
of  the  people  of  Rome,  the  sigh  of  Italy,  the  sigh  of 
the  world,  breathed  through  that  unequalled  harmony 
and  sensibility,  for  peace,  — peace  under  its  vine  and 
fig-tree,  — peace,  rest,  after  a hundred  years  of  inse- 
curity, convulsion,  and  blood? 

Now,  if  that  form  of  genius,  — genius  in  art,  in 
poetry,  whose  end  is  delight,  whose  wanderings 

“ are  where  the  Muses  haunt 
Clear  spring,  or  shady  green,  or  sunny  hill,” 

whose  nourishment  is 

“ Of  thoughts  that  voluntary  move  harmonious  numbers,” 

— if  that  kind,  — solitary,  introspective,  the  creature 
of  the  element,  — takes  a bias  and  a tincture  from  a 
strongly  agitated  time,  how  muclr  truer  must  this  be 
of  that  genius  whose  office,  whose  art,  it  is,  by  speech, 


EEVOLUTIONAlir  PERIODS. 


171 


by  deep  feelings  and  earnest  convictions  overflowing 
in  eloquent  speech,  to  communicate  with  the  people 
of  such  a time  directly  upon  the  emotions  it  excites, 
the  hopes  it  inspires,  the  duties  it  imposes,  the  tre- 
mendous alternative  it  holds  out  ? How  inevitable 
that  the  eloquence  of  revolutions  should  be  all  com- 
pact of  the  passmg  hour ! How  inevitable  that  the 
audiences  such  seasons  assemble,  the  crises  hurried 
onward  as  the  sea  its  succession  of  billows,  the  great 
passions  they  set  on  fire,  the  pity,  the  terror  they  jus- 
tify, the  mighty  interests  they  place  at  stake,  the 
expansive  and  gorgeous  ideas  on  which  they  roll,  the 
simphcity,  definiteness,  and  prominence  of  the  objects 
which  they  set  before  all  men’s  eyes,  the  concussion, 
the  stimulation  which  they  give  to  the  whole  medita- 
tive as  well  as  emotional  faculties  of  a generation,  — 
how  inevitable  that  such  a conjunctive  age  and  revo- 
lution should  create  its  own  style  and  tone  and  form 
of  public  speech ! 

For  what  is  a revolution  ? I shall  call  it  that  agony 
through  which,  by  which,  — the  accustomed  course, 
the  accustomed  and  normal  ebb  and  flow,  of  the  life 
of  the  State,  being  violently  suspended,  from  causes 
in  part  internal, — a new  nation  is  born,  or  an  old 
nation  dies,  or  by  which,  without  losing  its  identity, 
a nation  puts  off  its  constitution  of  tyranny  and  be- 
comes free,  self-governed,  or  is  despoiled  of  its  con- 
stitution of  freedom  and  becomes  enslaved,  the  slave 
of  its  own  government.  Such  a change  as  either  of 
these,  — such  a birth,  such  a dying,  such  emancipation, 
such  enslavement,  — such  a change,  — vast,  violent, 
compressed  within  some  comparatively  brief  time, 
palpable  to  all  sense  and  all  consciousness,  so  that 


172 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


thousands,  millions,  feel  together  that  the  spell  of  a 
great  historical  hour  is  upon  them  all  at  once,  — such 
an  one  I call  a revolution.  And  these  are  they  which 
are  transacted  on  the  high  places  of  the  world,  and 
make  up  the  epic  and  the  tragic  matter  of  the  story 
of  nations. 

Illustrations  of  all  these  kinds  will  readily  occur  to 
you.  Of  one  class,  of  a revolution  in  which  a na- 
tional life  expired,  internal  causes  co-working  with 
force  from  without,  you  see  an  instance,  grand,  sad, 
memorable  in  that  day,  when,  in  the  downward  age 
of  Greece,  that  once  radiant  brow  was  struck  by 
Philip,  and  by  the  successors  of  Alexander,  for  ever 
to  the  earth.  Of  a revolution  in  which  a nation, 
keeping  its  life,  its  identity,  exchanged  a government 
of  freedom  for  a government  of  tyranny,  you  have  an 
instance,  not  less  grand  and  memorable,  bloodier  and 
fuller  of  terror  in  its  incidents  and  instrumentalities, 
in  that  time  when  republican  Rome  became  the  Rome 
of  the  Caesars,  and  the  dignity  of  the  Senate  unrobed 
itself,  and  the  proud  and  noble  voice  of  the  people 
in  the  forum  died  away  in  the  presence  of  the  purple 
and  the  guard.  Of  that  type  of  revolution  in  which 
a nation,  still  keeping  its  life  and  identity,  exchanges 
her  constitution  of  slavery  for  one  of  freedom,  or 
seems  to  do  so,  or  rises  to  do  so,  you  will  recall  the 
example  of  the  France  of  1789.  Of  that  other  type 
of  revolution  in  which  a nation  begins,  or  seems  to 
begin,  to  be,  there  are  examples  in  Ireland  in  1782, 
in  America  in  1776.  These,  and  such  as  these,  if 
other  such  there  are,  I call  revolutions. 

In  some  things,  — in  causes,  incidents,  issues,  les- 
sons, distinguished  from  one  another  by  some  traits 


EEVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


173 


of  the  eloquence  they  demand  and  supply,  — tliere  is 
a certain  common  character  to  them  all ; and  there 
are  certain  common  peculiarities  by  which  the  elo- 
quence of  them  all  is  sure  to  be  unlike,  essentially, 
the  whole  public  speech  of  times  quieter,  happier,  less 
crowded,  less  glorious. 

Glance  first  at  the  common  characteristics  of  all 
the  deliberative  eloquence  of  all  the  classes  of  revo- 
lutions, as  I have  defined  revolution. 

If  you  bear  in  mind  that  the  aim  of  deliberative 
eloquence  is  to  persuade  to  an  action^  and  that  to  per- 
suade to  an  action  it  must  be  shown  that  to  perform 
it  will  gratify  some  one  of  the  desires  or  affections  oi 
sentiments,  — yon  may  call  them,  altogether,  passions, 
— which  are  the  springs  of  all  action,  some  love  of 
our  own  happiness,  some  love  of  our  country,  some 
love  of  man,  some  love  of  honor,  some  approval  of 
our  own  conscience,  some  fear  or  some  love  of  God, 
you  see  that  eloquence  will  be  characterized,  — first, 
by  the  nature  of  the  actions  to  which  it  persuades  ; 
secondly,  by  the  nature  of  the  desire  or  affection  or 
sentiment,  — the  nature  of  the  passion,  in  other 
words,  — by  appeal  to  which  it  seeks  to  persuade  to 
the  action ; and  then,  I say,  that  the  capital  peculi- 
arity of  the  eloquence  of  all  times  of  revolution,  as  I 
have  described  revolution,  is  that  the  actions  it  per- 
suades to  are  the  highest  and  most  heroic  which  men 
can  do,  and  the  passions  it  would  inspire,  in  order  to 
persuade  to  them,  are  the  most  lofty  which  man  can 
feel.  “ High  actions  and  high  passions,”  — such  are 
Milton’s  words,  — high  actions  through  and  by  high 
passions  ; these  are  the  end  and  these  the  means  of 
the  orator  of  the  revolution. 


174 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OE 


Hence  are  his  topics  large,  simple,  intelligible, 
affecting.  Hence  are  his  views  broad,  impressive, 
popular ; no  trivial  details,  no  wire-woven  develop- 
ments, no  subtle  distinctions  and  drawing  of  fine 
lines  about  the  boundaries  of  ideas,  no  speculation, 
no  ingenuity ; all  is  elemental,  comprehensive,  in- 
tense, practical,  unqualified,  undoubting.  It  is  not 
of  the  small  things  of  minor  and  instrumental  poli- 
tics he  comes  to  speak,  or  men  come  to  hear.  It  is 
not  to  speak  or  to  hear  about  permitting  an  Athenian 
citizen  to  change  his  tribe ; about  permitting  the 
Roman  Knights  to  have  jurisdiction  of  trials  equally 
with  the  Senate ; it  is  not  about  allowing  a £10 
house-holder  to  vote  for  a member  of  Parliament ; 
about  duties  on  indigo,  or  onion-seed,  or  even  tea. 

“ Tiiat  strain  you  hear  is  of  an  higher  mood.” 

It  is  the  rallying  cry  of  patriotism,  of  liberty,  in  the 
sublimest  crisis  of  the  State,  — of  man.  It  is  a de- 
liberation of  empire,  of  glory,  of  existence  on  which 
they  come  together.  To  be  or  not  to  be,  — that  is 
the  question.  Shall  the  children  of  the  men  of  Mar- 
athon become  slaves  of  Philip?  Shall  the  majesty 
of  the  senate  and  people  of  Rome  stoop  to  wear  the 
chains  forging  by  the  military  executors  of  the  will 
of  Julius  Caesar?  Shall  the  assembled  representa- 
tives of  France,  just  waking  from  her  sleep  of  ages  to 
claim  the  rights  of  man,  — shall  they  disperse,  their 
work  undone,  their  work  just  commencing  ; and  shall 
they  disperse  at  the  order  of  the  king?  or  shall  the 
messenger  be  bid  to  go,  in  the  thunder-tones  of  Mira- 
beau,  — and  tell  his  master  that  “we  sit  here  to  do 
the  will  of  our  constituents,  and  that  we  will  not  be 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


175 


moved  from  these  seats  but  by  the  point  of  the  bajm- 
net  ” ? Shall  Ireland  bound  upward  from  her  long- 
prostration,  and  cast  from  her  the  last  link  of  the 
British  chain,  and  shall  she  advance  “ from  injuries 
to  arms,  from  arms  to  liberty,”  from  liberty  to  glory  ? 

Shall  the  thirteen  Colonies  become,  and  be,  free 
and  independent  States,  and  come  unabashed,  un- 
terrified, an  equal,  into  the  majestic  assembly  of  the 
nations  ? These  are  the  thoughts  with  which  all 
bosoms  are  distended  and  oppressed.  Filled  with 
these,  with  these  flashing  in  every  eye,  swelling 
every  heart,  pervading  electric  all  ages,  all  orders, 
like  a visitation,  “ an  unquenchable  public  fire,”  men 
come  together, — the  thousands  of  Athens  around  the 
Bema,  or  in  the  Temple  of  Dionysus,  — the  people 
of  Rome  in  the  forum,  the  Senate  in  that  council- 
chamber  of  the  world,  — the  masses  of  France,  as  the 
spring-tide,  into  her  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  her 
club-rooms,  her  hall  of  the  convention,  — the  repre- 
sentatives, the  genius,  the  grace,  the  beauty  of  Ire- 
land into  the  Tuscan  Gallery  of  her  House  of  Com- 
mons, — the  delegates  of  the  Colonies  into  the  Hall 
of  Independence  at  Philadelphia,  — thus  men  come, 
in  an  hour  of  revolution,  to  hang  upon  the  lips  from 
which  they  hope,  they  need,  they  demand,  to  hear 
the  things  which  belong  to  their  national  salvation, 
hunwerinff  for  the  bread  of  life. 

And  then  and  thus  comes  the  orator  of  that  time, 
kindling  with  their  fire  ; sympathizing  with  that 
great  beating  heart ; penetrated,  not  subdued  ; lifted 
up  rather  by  a sublime  and  rare  moment  of  history 
made  real  to  his  consciousness  ; charged  with  the 
very  mission  of  life,  yet  unassured  whether  they  will 


176 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


hear  or  will  forbear  ; transcendent  good  within  their 
grasp,  yet  a possibility  that  the  fatal  and  critical 
opportunity  of  salvation  will  be  wasted ; the  last 
evil  of  nations  and  of  men  overhanging,  yet  the  siren 
song  of  peace  — peace  when  there  is  no  peace  — 
chanted  madly  by  some  voice  of  sloth  or  fear,  — there 
and  thus  the  orators  of  revolutions  come  to  work 
their  work ! And  what  then  is  demanded,  and  how 
it  is  to  be  done,  you  all  see  ; and  that  in  some  of  the 
characteristics  of  their  eloquence  they  must  all  be 
alike.  Actions,  not  law  or  policy,  whose  growth  and 
fruits  are  to  be  slowly  evolved  by  time  and  calm ; 
actions  daring,  doubtful  but  instant ; the  new  things 
of  a new  world,  — these  are  what  the  speaker  coun- 
sels ; large,  elementary,  gorgeous  ideas  of  right,  of 
equality,  of  independence,  of  liberty,  of  progress 
through  convulsion,  — these  are  the  principles  from 
which  he  reasons,  when  he  reasons,  — these  are  the 
pinions  of  the  thought  on  which  he  soars  and  stays  ; 
and  then  the  primeval  and  indestructible  sentiments 
of  the  breast  of  man,  — his  sense  of  right,  his  estima- 
tion of  himself,  his  sense  of  honor,  his  love  of  fame, 
his  triumph  and  his  joy  in  the  dear  name  of  country, 
the  trophies  that  tell  of  the  past,  the  hopes  that  gild 
and  herald  her  dawn,  — these  are  the  springs  of 
action  to  which  he  appeals,  — these  are  the  chords 
his  fingers  sweep,  and  from  which  he  draws  out  the 
troubled  music,  “ solemn  as  death,  serene  as  the  un- 
dying confidence  of  patriotism,”  to  which  he  would 
have  the  battalions  of  the  people  march ! Directness, 
plainness,  a narrow  range  of  topics,  few  details,  few 
but  grand  ideas,  a headlong  tide  of  sentiment  and 
feeling ; vehement,  indignant,  and  reproachful  rea- 


EEYOLUTIONARY  TERIODS. 


177 


sonings,  — winged  general  maxims  of  wisdom  and 
life  ; an  example  from  Plntarch  ; a pregnant  sentence 
of  Tacitus  ; thoughts  going  forth  as  ministers  of  nat- 
ure in  robes  of  light,  and  with  arms  in  their  hands  ; 
thoughts  that  breathe  and  words  that  burn,  — these 
vaguely,  approximately,  express  the  general  type  of 
all  this  speech. 

I have  spoken  of  some  characteristics  common  to 
the  eloquence  of  all  revolutions.  But  they  differ 
from  one  another  ; and  their  eloquence  differs  too. 

Take  first  that  instance — sad,  grand,  and  memo- 
rable for  ever  — in  which  Greece,  prepared  for  it  by 
causes  acting  within,  perished  at  last  by  the  gold  and 
the  phalanx  of  Macedon.  The  orator  of  that  time  is 
the  first  name  in  the  ancient  eloquence,  in  some  re- 
spects — in  the  transcendent  opportunity  of  his  life 
and  death  at  least  — the  first  name  in  all  eloquence, 
— Demosthenes. 

Begin  with  him,  — the  orator  of  the  nation  which 
is  expiring.  The  most  Athenian  of  the  Athenians, 
the  most  Greek  of  all  the  Greeks,  it  was  his  mission 
to  utter  the  last  and  noblest  protest  of  Grecian  inde- 
pendence, and  to  pour  out  the  whole  gathered,  tradi- 
tional, passionate  patriotism  of  the  freest  and  most 
country -loving  of  all  the  races  of  man,  in  one  final 
strain  of  higher  mood  than  the  world  before  or  since 
has  heard.  The  scheme  of  politics,  the  ethics,  the 
public  service,  the  eloquence,  the  whole  life,  of  this 
man  have  all  the  unity  and  consistency  of  parts,  — all 
the  simplicity  and  rapid  and  transparent  flow  of  a 
masterpiece  of  Attic  art.  That  dying  hour  in  the 
Temple  of  Neptune  brought  the  long  tragic  action 
with  a befitting  grandeur  and  terror  and  pity  to  its 

12 


178 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


close.  At  the  moment  when  he  became  of  age  to 
take  on  him  the  first  duties  of  Athenian  citizenship, 
he  saw  soonest  of  his  countiymen,  with  keenest  and 
justest  discernment,  that  the  independence  of  Athens 

— the  independence  of  the  whole  old  historical  Greece 

— was  directly  and  formidably  assailed  by  the  arms 
and  the  gold  of  a rising,  half-barbarous  military  mon- 
archy on  its  northern  frontier.  If  that  Philip  — if 
that  Alexander  — succeeded  in  the  design  so  trans- 
parent to  his  eye,  — so  transparent  to  ours  now, 
though  some  good  men  and  wise  men  could  not  yet 
see  it  so,  — the  Greece  of  his  birth,  pride,  and  love,  — 
that  fair,  kindred  group  of  States,  not  straitly  united 
by  a constitution,  yet  to  him,  by  language,  by  blood, 
by  culture,  by  institutions,  by  tradition,  by  trophies, 

— “ the  descent  and  concatenation  and  distribution 
of  glory,”  — by  disdain  of  masters  abroad  and  tyrants 
at  home,  seeming  to  him  a beautiful  identity,  — that 
Greece  would  perish  for  evermore.  To  frustrate  that 
design,  was  the  one  single  effort  of  the  public  life  of 
Demosthenes  of  thirty  years.  To  devise,  to  organize 
and  apply,  the  means  of  doing  so,  was  the  one  single 
task  of  all  his  statesmanship,  all  his  diplomacy,  all 
his  plans  of  finance,  all  his  political  combinations,  all 
his  matchless  eloquence. 

Whatsoever  of  usefulness,  or  goodness,  or  grand- 
eur there  is  in  patriotism,  — that  patriotism  which  is 
employed  in  keeping  its  country  alive,  — all  this 
praise  is  his.  Some  there  were  in  that  downward 
age  — some  ponderous  historians  of  Greece  there  are 
now  — who  said  and  say  that  a Macedonian  conquest 
was  not  so  bad  a thing ; that  it  was  not  so  much  a 
dying  of  Greece  as  a new  life  in  another  body,  a 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


179 


higher  being,  a mere  transmutation  of  matter,  a mere 
diffusion  of  the  race  and  language,  the  fountain 
merely  sinking  into  the  earth  in  Attica  to  rise  in 
Syria,  to  rise  in  Alexandria.  All  these  metaphysics 
of  history  were  lost  on  him.  He  felt  like  a Greek 
who  was  a Greek.  He  felt  that  the  identity  of  Greek 
political  life  consisted  in  this : that  it  owned  no  for- 
eign master,  and  that  it  acknowledged  no  despotic 
single  will  at  home.  Independence  of  all  the  world 
without ; self-government : the  rule  and  the  obedi- 
ence of  law  self-imposed ; rights  and  obligations 
reciprocally  due,  — due  from  man  to  man  within  the 
city,  under  the  constitution,  — this  was  in  essence 
Grecian  public  life  — Grecian  life.  Love  of  beauty 
and  of  glory,  faultless  taste,  subtilty  and  fancy  in  su- 
preme degree,  overflowing  in  an  art,  a poetry,  a spec- 
idative  philosophy,  an  eloquence,  a whole  literature, 
— making  up  so  large  a part  of  our  manifold  and 
immortal  inheritance  from  the  past,  — this  was  great- 
ness too,  certainly.  But  it  is  in  her  pride  of  inde- 
pendence, and  in  her  tempestuous  internal  freedom  ; 
it  is  in  Marathon  or  Thermopylee  and  the  games  of 
the  01}Tnpia  — and  that  stormy,  quick-witted,  wilful 
and  passionate  people  — that  he  recognized,  that  we 
recognize,  the  true  and  nobler  individuality. 

To  keep  all  this  against  the  gold  and  the  spear  of 
that  half-civilized  military  despotism  — in  the  first 
rising  strength  of  a new  national  life  — was  the 
mission,  say  rather  the  high  endeavor  of  Demos- 
thenes. To  this  for  a lifetime  he  gave  himself,  — he 
abandoned  himself, — nor  rested  till  all  was  over; 
and  a little  poison  in  a ring  was  all  the  dying  mother 
could  leave  her  child  to  help  him  escape  her  mur- 


180 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


derers  and  his ; death  by  poison  in  the  temple  on 
the  island,  — praise,  tears,  and  admiration  through  all 
time. 

You  see  at  once,  in  the  singleness  and  simplicity, 
yet  difficulty  and  grandeur,  of  the  work  he  had  to 
work,  an  explanation  of  many  of  the  characteristics 
of  his  eloquence  usually  dwelt  on,  — its  directness, 
its  perspicuity,  its  disdain  of  ornament,  its  freedom 
from  dissertation,  and  refining,  and  detail,  and  weari- 
some development,  — the  fewness  of  its  topics,  the 
limited  range  of  its  ideas,  — its  harmony  and  unity 
of  spirit  and  effect^  — the  whole  speech  of  three 
hours  seeming  but  one  blow  of  a thunderbolt,  by 
which  a tower,  a furlong  of  a city-wall,  might  tumble 
down,  — its  austere,  almost  fierce,  gloomy  intensity 
and  earnestness,  — its  rapidity  and  vehemence,  — the 
indignation,  the  grief,  the  wonder,  the  love  which 
seem  to  cry  out,  “ Why  will  ye  die  ? ” 

But  this  brings  me  to  say  that  there  are  other 
characteristics  less  spoken  of : here  and  there  through 
these  grand  exhortations  there  breathes  another  tone, 
for  which  you  must  seek  another  solution.  That 
spirit  — so  vehement,  so  enthusiastic,  so  hopeful,  so 
bold  — was  clear-sighted  too ; and  he  could  not  fail 
to  discern  in  all  things  around  him  but  too  much 
cause  to  fear  that  he  had  come  on  the  last  times  of 
Greece.  Yes,  he  might  well  see  and  feel  that  it  was 
his  to  be  the  orator  of  the  expiring  nation! 

The  old  public  life  of  Greece  was  in  its  decay. 
The  outward,  visible  Athens  seemed  unchanged. 
There  she  sat,  as  in  the  foretime,  on  her  citadel  rock, 
in  sight  of  her  auxiliar  sea,  crowned,  garlanded, 
wanton,  with  all  beauty,  all  glory,  and  all  delight. 


KEVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


181 


Yet  all  was  changed ! There  stood  the  walls  of 
Themistocles  ; but  the  men  of  Marathon,  where  were 
they  ? Instead  — vanity,  effeminacy,  sensual  self- 
indulgence,  sordid  avarice,  distrust  of  the  gods,  — 
the  theatre,  the  banquet,  the  garland  dripping  with 
Samian  wine ! 

The  second  childhood  had  come.  Like  their  own 
grasshoppers,  they  would  make  their  old  age  an  un- 
graceful infancy,  an  evening  revel,  and  sing  their  fill. 
Gleams  of  the  once  matchless  race  and  time  broke 
through  here  and  there,  and  played  on  the  surface, 
as  the  sun  setting  on  Salamis ; but  the  summer  was 
ending ; the  day  was  far  spent ; the  bright  consum- 
mate flower  that  never  might  in  other  climate  grow, 
was  fain  to  bow  to  the  dread  decree  of  eternal  change  ! 

The  great  statesman  was  himself  unchanged.  His 
whole  public  life,  therefore,  was  a contention.  It  was 
one  long  breathing,  one  long  trust,  one  long  prayer 
that  these  dry  bones  might  live. 

Therefore,  also,  ever,  there  seems  to  me  through 
all  that  fire,  sublimity,,  and  confidence,  a certain  — 
I know  not  what  I should  call  it  — a half-indulged, 
half-repressed  consciousness  that  all  is  lost,  and  all  is 
vain ! It  is  as  if  the  orator  were  a prophet  too,  and 
the  vision  he  saw  confronted  and  saddened  the  speech 
he  uttered.  There  is  the  expostulation,  the  reproach, 
the  anger,  the  choking  grief  of  a patriot  who  has 
his  whole  country,  literalljq  within  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  among  the  scenes  of  all  their  glory,  who  knows 

— who  thinks  he  knows  — as  well  as  he  knows  his 
own  existence,  that  if  they  will,  they  shall  be  free, 

— who  cannot  let  go  the  dear  and  sweetest  error,  if 
it  is  so,  of  salvation  possible  to  the  State,  and  yet. 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


lS)i 

when  the  pause  of  exhaustion  comes,  and  the  vision 
his  wishes  had  sketched  shows  less  palpably,  and  the 
glow  of  the  spirit  sinks,  almost  owns  to  himself  that 
the  hope  he  felt  was  but  the  resolution  of  despair. 

“ I see  a hand  you  cannot  see, 

I hear  a voice  you  cannot  hear ! ” 

Three  days  of  this  man’s  life  stand  out  to  the  im- 
agination from  its  grand,  sad,  general  tenor. 

First  of  these  was  that  in  his  thirtieth  year  when 
he  pronounced  his  first  oration  against  Philip  of 
Macedon.  That  day  — without  office,  without  even 
call  by  the  people,  without  waiting  for  the  veteran 
haranguers  and  advisers  of  the  city  toward  whom  the 
assembly  was  looking  to  hear,  when  the  sacrifices  had 
been  performed,  and  the  herald  had  made  procla- 
mation — he  went  up  to  counsel  his  countrymen  ; and 
when  he  had  concluded,  he,  the  son  of  the  sword 
manufacturer,  — a young  man,  in  the  yet  early  flush 
and  enthusiasm  of  public  virtue,  — had  practically, 
without  formal  suffi-age,  elevated  himself  to  the  chief 
magistracy  of  Athens  for  all  the  future  lifetime  of 
Athenian  freedom.  He  sprung  up  that  day  by  one 
bound  to  this  height  so  dazzling,  and  there  he  stood 
till  the  eye  of  Greece  was  closed  for  ever.  As  he 
came  down  from  that  stage  on  which  Pericles  had 
spoken  to  a former  generation,  not  unconscious  of  the 
actual  triumph,  some  feeling  of  the  greater  future 
in  the  instant, — a grave  expectation  on  that  stern, 
melancholy  face,  that  the  midnight  studies  in  the 
cave  by  the  sea  had  loosed  the  tongue  of  the  stam- 
merer ; that  the  closed  lips  had  been  touched  by  fire, 
and  the  deep  miraculous  fountain  of  eloquence  been 


EEVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


183 


unsealed,  — I can  imagine  him  to  say,  “And  these 
applauses  I have  won  by  no  flattery  of  the  people  ; 
no  sophistries ; no  rhetoric ; no  counsels  of  self-in- 
dulgence ; no  siren  song  transforming  to  beasts  ! As 
I have  won  let  me  keep  them.  Be  mine  to  avow  that 
without  regenerated  Athens  Greece  already  has  her 
master.  Be  mine  to  open  my  country’s  eye  to  the 
whole  danger  and  the  single  remedy ; to  turn  these 
States  away  from  their  idle  fears  of  Persia  and  their 
senseless  jealousy  of  each  other,  and  fix  their  appre- 
hensions on  their  true  enemy,  perhaps  their  destroyer, 
this  soldier  of  Macedon.  Be  mine  to  persuade  old 
men  and  rich  men  to  give,  and  young  men,  spurning 
away  the  aid  of  mercenaries,  themselves  to  strike  for 
Greece  by  sea  and  land  as  in  her  heroic  time.  Be 
mine  to  lift  up  the  heart  of  this  Athens  ; to  erect  the 
spirit  of  this  downward  age  ; to  re  enthrone  the  sen- 
timent of  duty  for  its  own  sake,  — the  glory  of  effort, 
the  glory  of  self-sacrifice  and  of  suffering,  to  reen- 
throne these  fading  sentiments  in  the  soul  of  my 
people,  — or  all  is  lost  — is  lost ! ” 

And  as  these  thoughts  which  embody  his  exact 
whole  public  life  came  on  him,  I can  imagine  him 
turning  away  from  the  applauses  of  an  audience  that 
had  found  by  a sure  instinct  in  that  essay  of  an  hour 
its  mightiest  orator  in  that  young  man,  — turning 
the  sight  up  from  the  Salamis  and  the  busy  city  be- 
neath, and  pausing  to  stay  his  spirit  by  the  cheerful 
and  fair  religions  of  the  Acropolis,  — that  temple, 
that  fortress^  that  gallery  of  the  arts,  — serene  and 
steadfast  as  the  floor  of  Olympus,  — and  then  de- 
scending homewards  to  begin  his  great  trust  of  guid- 
ing the  public  life  of  expiring  Gi’eece. 


184 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


Turn  to  his  next  great  day.  Twelve  years  have 
passed,  and  the  liberties  of  Greece  have  been  cloven 
down  at  Chaeronea  for  ever.  Philip  is  dead,  and  the 
young  Alexander  is  master.  And  now,  in  this  hour 
of  her  humiliation,  he  who  had  advised  and  directed 
the  long  series  of  her  unavailing  warfare ; to  whose 
eloquence,  to  whose  fond  dream,  to  whose  activity, 
to  whose  desperate  fidelity  incoiTupt,  she  owed  it, 
that  she  had  fallen  as  became  the  mother  of  the  men 
of  Marathon,  — he  is  arraigned  for  this  whole  public 
life,  and  rises  before  an  audience  gathered  of  all 
Greece  — gathered  of  all  the  lettered  world,  to  vindi- 
cate his  title  to  the  crown. 

The  youthful  orator  has  grown  to  be  a man  of  fifty- 
two.  For  him,  for  Greece,  the  future  now  is  indeed 
a dream.  Some  possible  chance,  some  god,  some 
oracle,  may  give  to  strike  another  blow  ; but  for  the 
present  all  is  over  — is  over ! It  is  the  glory  or  the 
shame  of  the  past  which  is  to  be  appreciated  now. 
It  is  the  dead  for  freedom  for  whom  he  is  to  give 
account.  It  is  for  a perished  nation  that  he  comes 
there  and  then  to  be  judged.  Others  have  laid  down 
the  trust  of  public  life  at  the  close  of  splendid  suc- 
cesses. His  administration  saw  liberty  and  the  State 
expire.  Others  could  point  the  nation  they  had  been 
conducting  to  some  land  of  promise  beyond  the  river  ; 
to  some  new  field  and  new  age  of  greatness ; “ to 
future  sons  and  daughters  yet  unborn,”  and  so  chal- 
lenge the  farewell  applauses  of  their  time.  He  and 
his  Athens  had  lost  all  things,  — independence,  na- 
tional life,  hope,  all  things  but  honor  ; and  how  should 
he  answer,  in  that  day,  for  his  share  in  contributing 
to  a calamity  so  accomplished  ? How  he  answered 


EEVOLUTIONAKY  PEEIODS. 


185 


all  men  know.  In  the  noblest  deliberative  discourse 
ever  uttered  by  mortal  lips,  there,  in  their  presence 
who  had  seen  his  outgoings  and  incomings  for  his 
whole  public  life,  who  had  known  his  purity,  his 
wisdom,  his  civil  courage ; who  had  sympathized, 
had  trembled,  had  kindled  with  all  his  emotions  of  a 
lifetime ; in  whose  half-extinguished  virtue  he  had 
lighted  up  the  fire  of  a better  age,  he  reviewed  that 
grand  and  melancholy  story ; he  gave  them  to  see 
through  that  pictured  retrospect  how  it  had  been 
appointed  to  them  to  act  in  the  final  extremity  of 
Greece ; what  dignity,  what  responsibleness,  what 
tragic  and  pathetic  interest,  had  belonged  to  their 
place  and  fortunes  ; how  they  had  been  singled  out 
to  strike  the  last  blow  for  the  noblest  cause  ; and  how 
gloriously  they  had  been  minded,  without  calculation 
of  the  chances  of  success  or  failure,  to  stand  or  fall 
in  the  passes  of  the  dear  mother  land ! All  that 
Greece  had  in  her  of  the  historical  past  — all  of  let- 
ters, refinement,  renowned  grace  and  liberty  — all 
was  represented  by  you,  and  nobly  have  ye  striven 
to  defend  it  all ! Grandly  ye  resolved ; grandly  ye 
have  resisted ; grandly  have  ye  fallen  ! 

That  day  he  read  his  history  in  a nation’s  eyes. 
The  still  just,  stricken  heart  of  the  people  of  Athens 
folded  the  orator-statesman  to  its  love,  and  set  on  his 
head  for  ever  the  crown  of  gold  ! 

One  day  more  was  wanting  to  that  high  tragic 
part,  and  how  that  was  discharged  Plutarch  and 
Lucian  have  imagined  strikingly.  If  it  were  a death 
self-inflicted,  our  moral  judgments  must  deeply  de- 
plore and  condemn.  Some  uncertainty  attends  the 
act ; and.  from  the  Grecian  standpoint,  we  may  ad- 
mit its  pathos  and  own  its  grandeur. 


186 


THE  ELOQUENCE  01 


Sixteen  years  had  now  passed  since  the  fatal  battle 
of  Chaeronea,  — eight  since  the  pleading  for  the 
crown.  He  was  now  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  life. 
In  that  time  the  final  struggle  of  Greece  was  at- 
tempted, — another  attempt,  — and  all  was  over.  In 
August,  three  hundred  and  twenty-two  years  before 
Christ,  a decisive  victory  of  the  Macedonians  had 
scattered  the  hasty  levies  of  the  Greeks,  — the  Mace- 
donian conqueror  came  near  to  Athens  ; stationed  a 
garrison  of  her  conquerors  above  the  harbor  to  com- 
mand it ; abolished  the  democratical  constitution, 
and  decreed  the  banishment  of  twelve  thousand 
Athenian  citizens.  One  thing  more  was  wanting  to 
attest  that  Athens,  that  Greece  had  completely  per- 
ished at  length  — and  that  was  the  surrender  of  the 
orator  to  atone  by  death  for  the  resistance  which  he 
had  so  long  persuaded  his  countrymen  to  attempt 
against  her  ultimate  destroyer.  This  surrender  ihe 
conqueror  demanded.  He  had  no  longer  a country 
to  protect  him  by  arms.  Could  she  do  it  by  her 
gods?  He  withdrew  to  an  island  some  miles  from 
Athens,  and  there  sought  an  asylum  in  the  temple 
of  Neptune.  The  exile  hunter  came  with  his  Thra- 
cians to  the  door,  and  would  have  persuaded  him  to 
commit  himself  to  what  he  called  the  clemency  of 
the  Idng  of  Macedon.  I give  the  rest  in  a free  trans- 
lation from  Lucian. 

“ I dread  the  clemency  which  you  offer  me,”  he 
answered,  “more  than  the  torture  and  death  for 
which  I had  been  looking  ; for  I cannot  bear  that  it 
be  reported  that  the  king  has  corrupted  me  by  the 
promise  of  life  to  desert  the  ranks  of  Greece,  and 
stand  in  those  of  Macedon.  Glorious  and  beautiful 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


187 


I should  have  thought  it,  if  that  life  could  have  been 
guarded  by  my  country ; by  the  fleet ; by  the  walls 
which  I have  builded  for  her ; by  the  treasury  I have 
filled;  by  her  constitution  of  popiflar  liberty;  by  her 
assemblies  of  freemen ; by  her  ancestral  glory ; by 
the  love  of  my  countrymen  who  have  crowned  me  so 
often  ; by  Greece  which  I have  saved  liitherto.  But 
since  this  may  not  be,  if  it  is  thus  that  tliis  island, 
this  sea,  this  temple  of  Neptune,  these  altars,  these 
sanctities  of  religion  cannot  keep  me  from  the  court 
of  the  king  of  Macedon,  a spectacle,  — a slave,  — I, 
Demosthenes,  whom  nature  never  formed  for  dis- 
grace, — I,  who  have  drunk  in  from  Xenophon,  from 
Plato,  the  hope  of  immortality,  — I,  for  the  honor  of 
Athens,  prefer  death  to  slavery,  and  wrap  myself 
thus  about  with  liberty,  the  fairest  winding  sheet ! ” 
And  so  he  cfr-ew  the  poison  from  his  ring,  and  smiled 
and  bade  the  tyrant  farewell,  and  died,  snatched  op- 
portunely away  by  some  god,  his  attendant  reported, 
— great  unconquered  soul ; and  the  voice  of  Greece 
was  hushed  for  ever. 

Next  for  instruction  and  impressiveness  to  the 
revolution  by  which  a nation  dies,  is  that  in  which, 
preserving  its  life,  it  is  compelled  to  exchange  a con- 
stitution of  freedom  for  the  government  of  tyranny. 
And  in  this  class  the  grandest,  most  bloody,  memora- 
ble, and  instructive  in  the  history  of  man,  is  that 
by  which  republican  Rome  became  the  Rome  of  the 
Ceesars ; and  senate,  consul,  knights,  tribune,  people, 
the  occasional  dictator,  all  were  brought  down  on  a 
wide  equality  of  servitude  before  the  emperor  and 
the  army.  Of  the  aspect  of  such  a revolution  in 
eloquence,  you  have  an  illustration  of  extraordinary 


188 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


interest  and  splendor  in  the  instance  of  Cicero,  that 
greatest  name  by  far  of  the  whole  Roman  mental  and 
lettered  culture,  — the  most  consummate  production 
of  the  Latin  type  of  genius,  — the  one  immortal 
voice  of  the  Latin  speech,  by  universal  consent ; 
teacher,  consoler,  benefactor  of  all  ages,  — in  whom 
Augustine  and  Erasmus  could  find  and  love  a kind 
of  anticipated  approximative  Christianity.  Turning 
from  all  he  wrote,  spoke,  did,  and  suffered  beside,  all 
his  other  studies,  all  his  other  praise,  fix  your  eye  on 
him  now,  as  the  orator  of  the  expiring  liberty  of  the 
commonwealth. 

He  was  murdered,  in  the  sixty-fourth  year  of  his 
life,  by  the  triumvirate  of  soldiers,  Augustus,  Lepi- 
dus,  and  Mark  Antony,  who  had  just  consummated 
the  overthrow  of  that  republic,  extinguished  the 
hopes  the  death  of  Julius  Csesar  had  excited,  and 
were  in  the  act  to  set  up  the  frowning  arch  of  the 
ranged  empire.  His  death  not  only  closed  the  pre- 
scription, as  Antony  said,  but  it  did  more  ; it  closed 
and  crowned,  with  a large,  tragic  interest,  that  most 
stupendous  of  revolutions,  which,  beginning  years 
before,  (he  is  a wise  man  who  can  tell  you  when  it 
began),  transformed  at  length  republican  Rome  into 
the  Rome  of  Augustus,  of  Tiberius,  and  passed  the 
dominion  of  the  world,  from  the  senate  and  people  of 
the  one  Eternal  City,  to  an  Emperor  and  his  legions. 
With  his  life  the  light  of  freedom  went  out.  Till 
that  voice  was  hushed,  the  triumph  of  despotism 
seemed  insecure ; it  was  fit,  her  grandest  themes  and 
her  diviner  nourishment  of  liberty  forbidden,  that 
eloquence  should  die. 

No  great  man’s  life  had  ever  a grander  close.  The 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


189 


stream  of  the  revolution  in  which  the  republic  was  to 
perish  had  swept  all  Rome  along,  him  with  the  rest, 
unsjmpathizing,  resisting.  It  seemed  to  have  con- 
summated the  downfall  of  the  constitution  when  it 
made  Julius  Caesar  perpetual  dictator.  But  he  Avas 
slain  bj  the  conspirators  in  iNIarch  of  the  forty-fourth 
year  before  Christ ; and  with  this  event,  though  he 
had  not  been  of  the  conspiracy,  the  hopes  of  Cicero 
to  stay  the  bloody  and  dark  tide,  and  to  reestablish 
and  reform  the  constitution  of  the  republic,  revived 
at  once  ; and  thenceforward,  with  scarcely  the  inter- 
mission of  sleep,  he  gave  himself  to  the  last  — they 
proved  to  be  last  — proud  and  sad  offices  of  Ro- 
man liberty,  until  all  such  hopes  were  quenched  in 
his  blood.  In  that  interval  of  not  quite  two  years,  I 
rejoice  to  say  that  no  worshipper  of  the  Csesars  of 
that  day  or  this,  no  envier  and  sneerer  at  transcendent 
and  prescriptive  reputations,  no  laborious  pedant  judg- 
ing of  high  souls  by  his  own  small  one,  and  loving 
his  own  crochet  better  than  the  fame  of  the  truly 
great  departed,  — no  Appian,  nor  Dion  Cassius,  nor 
Dr.  Hooke,  nor  Merivale,  nor  Drumann, — not  one 
of  them  in  those  last  two  years  pretends  to  find,  by 
his  microscope  fitted  into  the  end  of  his  telescope, 
one  spot  on  the  sun  going  down.  In  all  things  and 
in  all  places  of  duty,  by  wise  counsels  given  freely, 
by  correspondence  with  the  generals  of  the  republic 
in  arms,  by  personal  intercourse  with  patriots  at 
Rome,  by  universal  activity  and  effective  influence, 
by  courage,  by  contempt  of  death,  by  eloquence, 
ringing  sweeter  and  nobler  in  the  senate-house  and 
in  the  meetings  of  the  people,  each  strain  sweeter 
and  nobler  than  the  former  till  the  last,  — he  shone 


190 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


out,  last  and  greatest  of  Romans.  “ For  myself,”  he 
said,  in  one  of  the  fourteen  immortal  discourses  in 
the  senate,  “ I make  this  profession.  I defended  the 
Commonwealth  when  I was  young.  I will  not  desert 
her  now  that  I am  old.  I despised  the  swords  of 
Catiline  ; shall  I tremble  at  those  of  Antony?  Nay, 
joyfully  rather  would  I yield  this  frame  to  a bloody 
death,  if  so  I might  win  back  freedom  to  the  State.” 
That  lofty  profession  he  held  fast  — to  the  end. 
That  death  it  was  his  to  welcome  ! It  could  not 
give  to  Rome  the  freedom  for  which  she  was  no 
longer  fit ; yet  had  he  “ the  consolatioii,  the  joy,  the 
triumph  ” not  to  survive.it,  and  to  leave  an  example, 
which  is  of  the  lessons  of  liberty  and  glory  unblamed, 
to-day  and  for  ever. 

I know  very  well  that  there  is  a theory  of  history, 
and  rather  a taking  theory  too,  which  would  bereave 
him,  and  all  the  other  great  names  of  the  last  ages  of 
the  republic,  of  their  wreath,  and  set  it  on  the  brow 
of  the  first  Caesar  and  the  second,  of  Julius  Caesar 
and  Caesar  Augustus.  There  is  a theory,  that  it  was 
time  the  republic  should  end,  and  the  empire  begin. 
Liberty,  they  say,  had  failed  splendidly.  It  had 
grown  an  obsolete  idea.  It  was  behind  the  age.  In 
the  long,  fatal  fiow  of  that  stream  of  development 
and  necessity,  which  they  say  represents  the  history 
of  man,  the  hour  was  reached  in  which  it  was  fit  that 
one  despotic  will  and  one  standing  army  should  rule 
the  world.  That  hour,  they  tell  you,  Cicero  ought 
to  have  recognized  ; that  will  he  ought  piously  to  have 
hailed  in  the  person  of  Caesar,  and  the  person  of  An- 
tony. And  so  he  mistook  the  time ; and  died  con- 
tending vainly  and  ungracefully  with  destiny,  and 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


19] 


built  bis  monument  on  sands  over  which,  he  should 
have  seen,  the  tide  of  the  ages  was  rising  already. 

But  is  not  such  a theory  as  this,  in  such  an  applica- 
tion of  personal  disparagement  as  this,  about  as  poor, 
shallow,  heartless,  and  arrogant  a pedantry  as  any  in 
the  whole  history  of  the  follies  of  learning?  This 
judgment  of  a man’s  actions,  soul,  genius,  prudence, 
by  the  light  of  events  that  reveal  themselves  five 
hundred  or  one  hundred  years  after  he  is  in  his  grave, 
— how  long  has  that  been  thought  just?  Because 
now  we  are  able  to  see  that  the  struggle  of  liberty 
against  mailed  despotism,  — of  the  senate  and  people 
of  Rome  against  the  spirit  of  Caesar  in  arms,  say 
rather  the  spirit  of  the  age,  was  unavailing,  — shall 
we  pronounce  in  our  closets  that  a patriot-senator,  a 
man  made  consul  from  the  people  according  to  the 
constitution,  bred  in  the  traditions,  bathed  in  the 
spirit,  proud  of  that  high,  Roman  fashion,  of  freedom, 
was  a child  not  to  have  foreseen  it  as  well  ? Because 
he  ought  to  have  foreseen  it,  and  did  so,  was  it,  there- 
fore, not  nobler  to  die  for  liberty  than  to  survive  her  ? 
Is  success  all  at  once  to  stand  for  the  test  of  the  excel- 
lency of  dignity,  and  the  excellency  of  honor  ? Be 
it,  that  to  an  intelligence  that  can  take  in  the  ages  of 
time  and  eternity  and  the  greatest  good  of  a universe 
of  being,  the  republic  might  seem  to  have  fulfilled  its 
office,  and  that  it  was  better  the  empire  should  take 
its  place,  as  the  seed  cannot  quicken  except  it  die  : 
does  it  follow  that  we  are  to  love  and  honor  the  un- 
conscious human  instruments  of  the  dread  change 
more  than  those  who  courageously  withstood  it,  — 
Julius  Caesar,  the  atheist  and  traitor ; Augustus,  the 
hypocrite ; Antony,  the  bloody  and  luxurious,  wlio 


192 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


conquered  the  constitution,  — better  than  Cato  or 
Catullus,  or  Brutus  or  Cicero,  who  stood  round  it  in  its 
last  gasp  ? Because  offences  must  come,  shall  not  the 
moral  judgments  of  men  denounce  the  woe  against 
him  by  whom  they  come  ? Easy  is  it,  and  tempting 
for  the  Merivales  and  Congreves  (I  am  sorry  to  see 
De  Quincey  in  such  company)  to  say  the  senate  and 
people  of  Rome  were  unfit  to  rule  the  world  they  had 
overrun ; and,  therefore,  it  was  needful  for  an  em- 
peror and  his  guard  and  his  legions  to  step  in ; easy 
and  tempting  is  such  a speculation,  because  nobody 
can  disprove  it,  and  it  sounds  of  philosophy,  seems 
to  be  new.  But  when  they  pursue  it  so  far  as  to  see 
no  grandeur  in  the  struggle  of  free-will  with  circum- 
stance, and  of  virtue  and  conscience  with  force,  and 
feel  no  sj’mpathy  with  the  resistance  which  patriotism 
desperately  attempts  against  treason,  I reject  and  hoot 
it  incredulously. 

How  soothing  and  elevating  to  turn  from  such  phi- 
losophy, falsely  so  called,  to  the  grand  and  stirring 
music  of  that  eloquence  — those  last  fourteen  plead- 
ings of  Cicero,  which  he  who  has  not  studied  knows 
nothing  of  the  orator,  nothing  of  the  patriot  — in 
which  the  Roman  liberty  breathed  its  last.  From  that 
purer  eloquence,  from  that  nobler  orator,  the  great 
trial  of  fire  and  blood  through  which  the  spirit  of 
Rome  was  passing  had  burned  and  purged  away  all 
things  light,  all  things  gross ; the  purple  robe,  the 
superb  attitude  and  action,  the  splendid  common- 
places of  a festal  rhetoric,  are  all  laid  by ; the  un- 
graceful, occasional  vanity  of  adulation,  the  elaborate 
speech  of  the  abundant,  happy  mind,  at  its  ease,  all 
disappear ; and,  instead,  what  directness,  what  plain- 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


193 


uess,  wliat  rapidity,  what  fire,  what  abnegation  of 
himself,  what  disdain,  what  hate  of  the  usurper  and 
the  usurpation,  what  grand,  swelling  sentiments,  what 
fine  raptures  of  liberty,  roll  and  revel  there.  How 
there  rise  above  and  from  out  that  impetuous  torrent 
of  speech,  rushing  fervidly,  audibly,  distinctly,  be- 
tween the  peals  of  that  thunder  with  which,  like  a 
guardian  disunity,  he  seems  to  keep  the  senate-house, 
and  the  forum  where  the  people  assembled,  unpro- 
faned by  the  impending  tyranny,  — how  there  rise, 
here  and  there,  those  tones,  so  sweet,  so  mournful, 
boding  and  prophetic  of  the  end.  Almost  you  ex- 
pect,— when  the  sublime  expostulation  is  ended,  and 
the  fathers  of  the  republic  rise  all  together  from  their 
seats  to  answer  the  appeal  by  a shout  in  the  spirit  of 
the  time  of  Tarquin  the  Proud,  and  the  Second  Punic 
War,  and  the  ten  thousand  voices  of  the  multitude 
are  calling  the  orator  to  come  out  from  the  senate- 
house  and  speak  to  them  in  the  forum,  out  of  doors, 
to  them,  also,  of  the  perils  and  the  chances  of  their 
freedom,  — almost  you  expect  to  hear,  in  the  air,  as 
above  the  temple  of  the  doomed  Jerusalem,  the  awful, 
distant  cry.  Let  us  go  hence ! let  us  go  hence  ! The 
alternative  of  his  own  certain  death,  if  the  republic 
fell  resisting,  — what  pathos,  what  dignity,  what  sin- 
cerity, what  merit  intrinsical,  it  gives  to  his  brave 
counsels  of  resistance  ! 

“ Lay  hold  on  this  opportunity  of  our  salvation, 
Conscript  Fathers,  — by  the  Immortal  Gods  I conjure 
you ! — and  remember  that  you  are  the  foremost 
men  here,  in  the  council  chamber  of  the  whole  earth. 
Give  one  sign  to  the  Roman  people  that  even  as  now 
they  pledge  their  valor  — so  you  pledge  your  wisdom 

13 


194 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


to  the  crisis  of  the  State.  But  what  need  that  I ex- 
hort you  ? Is  there  one  so  insensate  as  not  to  under- 
stand that  if  we  sleep  over  an  occasion  such  as  this, 
it  is  ours  to  how  our  necks  to  a tyranny  not  proud 
and  cruel  only,  but  ignominious,  — but  sinful  ? Do 
ye  not  know  this  Antony  ? Do  ye  not  know  his 
companions  ? Do  ye  not  know  his  whole  house,  — 
insolent,  — impure,  — gamesters,  — drunkards  ? To 
be  slaves  to  such  as  he,  to  such  as  these,  were  it  not 
the  fullest  measure  of  miserj'',  conjoined  with  the 
fullest  measure  of  disgrace  ? If  it  be  so  — may 
the  gods  avert  the  omen  — that  the  supreme  hour  of 
the  republic  has  come,  let  us,  the  rulers  of  the  world, 
rather  fall  with  honor,  than  serve  with  infamy  ! Born 
to  glory  and  to  liberty,  let  us  hold  these  bright  dis- 
tinctions fast,  or  let  us  greatly  die  ! Be  it,  Romans, 
our  first  resolve  to  strike  down  the  tyrant  and  the 
tyranny.  Be  it  our  second  to  endure  all  things  for 
the  honor  and  liberty  of  our  country.  To  submit  to 
infamy  for  the  love  of  life  can  never  come  within  the 
contemplation  of  a Roman  soul ! For  you,  the  peo- 
ple of  Rome,  — you  whom  the  gods  have  appointed 
to  rule  the  world,  — for  you  to  own  a master  is  im- 
pious. 

“ You  are  in  the  last  erisis  of  nations.  To  be  free 
or  to  be  slaves,  — that  is  the  question  of  the  hour. 
By  every  obligation  of  man  or  States  it  behooves  you 
in  this  extremity  to  conquer,  — as  your  devotion  to 
the  gods  and  your  concord  among  yourselves  encour- 
age you  to  hope,  — or  to  bear  all  things  but  slavery. 
Other  nations  may  bend  to  servitude ; the  birthright 
and  the  distinction  of  the  people  of  Rome  is  liberty.” 

Turn,  now,  to  another  form  of  revolution  altogether. 


REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


195 


Turn  to  a revolution  in  -which  a people,  who  were  ' 
not  jet  a nation,  became  a nation,  — one  of  the  great, 
creative  efforts  of  history,  her  rarest,  her  grandest, 
one  of  her  marked  and  widely  separated  geological 
periods,  in  which  she  gathers  up  the  formless  and 
wandering  elements  of  a preexisting  nature,  and 
shapes  them  into  a new  world,  over  whose  rising  the 
morning  stars  might  sing  again.  And  these  revolu- 
tions have  an  eloquence  of  their  own,  also  ; but  how 
unlike  that  other,  — exultant,  trustful,  reasonable, 
courageous ! The  cheerful  and  confident  voice  of 
young,  giant  strength  rings  through  it,  — the  silver 
clarion  of  his  hope  that  sounds  to  an  awakening,  to 
an  onset,  to  a festival  of  glory,  preparing!  prepar- 
ing! — his  look  of  fire  now  fixed  on  the  ground,  now 
straining  towards  the  distant  goal ; his  heart  assured 
and  high,  yet  throbbing  with  the  heightened,  irregu- 
lar pulsations  of  a new  consciousness,  beating  un- 
wontedly,  — the  first,  delicious,  strange  feeling  of 
national  life. 

Twice  -within  a century  men  have  heard  that  elo- 
quence. They  heard  it  once  when,  in  1782,  Ireland, 
in  arms,  had  extorted  — in  part  from  the  humiliation 
and  necessities  of  England,  in  part  from  the  justice  of 
a new  administration  — the  independence  of  her  par- 
liament and  her  judiciary, 

“ That  one  lucid  interval  snatched  from  the  gloom 
And  the  madness  of  ages,  when  filled  with  one  soul, 

A nation  o’erleaped  the  dark  hounds  of  her  doom, 

And  for  one  sacred  instant  touched  liberty’s  goal,”  — 

and  Mr.  Grattan,  rising  slowly  in  her  House  of  Com- 
mons, said : “ I am  now  to  address  a free  people ; 
ages  have  passed  away,  and  this  is  the  first  moment 


196 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


in  which  j’ou  could  he  distinguished  by  that  appella- 
tion. I found  Ireland  on  her  knees ; I watched  over 
her  with  an  eternal  solicitude.  I have  traced  her 
j^rogress  from  injuries  to  arms,  from  arms  to  liberty. 
Spirit  of  Swift,  spirit  of  Molyneux,  your  genius  has 
prevailed ! Ireland  is  now  a nation.  In  that  char- 
acter, I hail  her  ; and,  bowing  to  her  august  presence, 
I say.  Live  Forever!  ” 

Men  heard  that  eloquence  in  1776,  in  that  manifold 
and  mighty  appeal  by  the  genius  and  wisdom  of  that 
new  America,  to  persuade  the  people  to  take  on  the 
name  of  nation,  and  begin  its  life.  By  how  many 
pens  and  tongues  that  great  pleading  was  conducted ; 
through  how  many  months,  before  the  date  of  the 
actual  Declaration,  it  went  on,  day  after  day ; in  how 
many  forms,  before  how  many  assemblies,  from  the 
village  newspaper,  the  more  careful  pamphlet,  the 
private  conversation,  the  town-meeting,  the  legisla- 
tive bodies  of  particular  colonies,  up  to  the  Hall  ol 
the  immortal  old  Congress,  and  the  master  intelli 
gences  of  lion  heart  and  eagle  eye,  that  ennobled  it,  — 
all  this  you  know.  But  the  leader  in  that  great 
argument  was  John  Adams,  of  Massachusetts.  He, 
by  concession  of  all  men,  was  the  orator  of  that  rev- 
olution, — the  revolution  in  which  a nation  was  born. 
Other  and  renowned  names,  by  written  or  spoken 
eloquence,  cooperated  effectively,  splendidly,  to  the 
grand  result,  — Samuel  Adams,  Samuel  Chase,  Jeffer- 
son, Flenry,  James  Otis  in  an  earlier  stage.  Each  of 
these,  and  a hundred  more,  within  circles  of  influence 
wider  or  narrower,  sent  forth,  scattering  broadcast, 
the  seed  of  life  in  the  ready,  virgin. soil.  Each  brought 
some  specialty  of  gift  to  the  work:  Jefferson,  the 


KEVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


197 


magic  of  style,  and  the  habit  and  the  power  of  deli- 
cious dalliance  with  those  large,  fair  ideas  of  freedom 
and  equality,  so  dear  to  man,  so  irresistible  in  that 
day ; Henry,  the  indescribable  and  lost  spell  of  the 
speech  of  the  emotions,  which  fills  the  eye,  chills  the 
blood,  turns  the  cheek  pale,  — the  lyric  phase  of  elo- 
quence, the  “fire-water,”  as  Lamartine  has  said,  of 
the  revolution,  instilling  into  the  sense  and  the  soul 
the  sweet  madness  of  battle  ; Samuel  Chase,  the  tones 
of  auger,  confidence,  and  pride,  and  the  art  to  inspire 
them.  John  Adams’s  eloquence  alone  seemed  to  have 
met  every  demand  of  the  time  ; as  a question  of  right, 
as  a question  of  prudence,  as  a question  of  immediate 
opportunity,  as  a question  of  feeling,  as  a question  of 
conscience,  as  a question  of  historical  and  durable  and 
innocent  glory,  he  knew  it  all,  through  and  through  , 
and  in  that  mighty  debate,  which,  beginning  in  Con- 
gress as  far  back  as  March  or  February,  1776,  had  its 
close  on  the  second  and  on  the  fourth  of  July,  he 
presented  it  in  all  its  aspects,  to  every  passion  and 
affection,  — to  the  burning  sense  of  wrong,  exas- 
perated at  length  beyond  control  by  the  shedding  of 
blood ; to  grief,  anger,  self-respect ; to  the  desire  of 
happiness  and  of  safety ; to  the  sense  of  moral  obliga- 
tion, commanding  that  the  dirties  of  life  are  more 
than  life  ; to  courage,  which  fears  God,  and  knows  no 
other  fear ; to  the  craving  of  the  colonial  heart,  of  all 
hearts,  for  the  reality  and  the  ideal  of  country,  and 
which  cannot  be  filled  unless  the  dear  native  land 
comes  to  be  breathed  on  by  the  grace,  clad  in  the 
robes,  armed  with  the  thunders,  admitted  an  equal 
to  the  assembly,  of  the  nations ; to  that  large  and 
heroical  ambition  which  would  build  States,  that 


198 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


imperial  pliilantkropy  which  would  open  to  liberty 
an  asylum  here,  and  give  to  the  sick  heart,  hard  fare, 
fettered  conscience  of  the  children  of  the  Old  World, 
healing,  plenty,  and  freedom  to  worship  God,  — to 
these  passions,  and  these  ideas,  he  presented  the  ap- 
peal for  months,  day  after  day,  until,  on  the  thhd  of 
July,  1776,  he  could  record  the  result,  writing  thus 
to  his  wife : “ Yesterday,  the  greatest  question  was 
decided  which  ever  was  debated  in  America ; and 
a greater,  perhaps,  never  was,  nor  will  be,  among 
men.” 

Of  that  series  of  spoken  eloquence  all  is  perished ; 
not  one  reported  sentence  has  come  down  to  us.  The 
voice  through  wliich  the  rising  spirit  of  a young 
nation  sounded  out  its  dream  of  life  is  hushed.  The 
great  spokesman,  of  an  age  unto  an  age,  is  dead. 

And  yet  of  those  lost  words  is  not  our  whole 
A.merica  one  immortal  record  and  reporter  ? Do  ye 
not  read  them,  deep  cut,  defying  the  tooth  of  time, 
on  all  the  marble  of  our  greatness  ? How  they  blaze 
on  the  pillars  of  our  Union ! How  is  their  deep 
sense  unfolded  and  interpreted  by  every  passing 
hour ! how  do  they  come  to  life,  and  grow  audible,  as 
it  were,  in  the  brightening  raj^s  of  the  light  he  fore- 
saw, as  the  fabled  invisible  harp  gave  out  its  music  to 
the  morning ! 

Yes,  in  one  sense,  thej'-  are  perished.  No  parch- 
ment manuscript,  no  embalming  printed  page,  no 
certain  traditions  of  living  or  dead,  have  kept  them. 
Yet,  from  out,  and  from  off,  all  things  around  us, — 
our  laughing  harvests,  our  songs  of  labor,  our  com- 
merce on  all  the  seas,  our  secure  homes,  our  school- 
houses  and  churches,  our  happy  people,  our  radiant 


EEVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


199 


and  stainless  flag, — how  they  come  pealing,  pealing. 
Independence  now,  and  Independence  for  ever  ! 

And  now,  on  a review  of  this  series  of  the  most 
eloquent  of  the  eloquent,,  and  of  these  opportunities 
of  their  renown,  does  our  love  deceive  us,  or  have  we 
not  ourselves  seen  and  heard,  and  followed  mourning 
to  the  grave,  one  man,  who,  called  to  act  in  a time 
so  troubled  and  high,  would  have  enacted  a part  of 
equal  splendor,  and  won  a fame  as  historical  ? Our 
Webster  — was  there  ever  yet  a cause  to  be  pleaded 
to  an  assembly  of  men  on  earth  to  which  he  would 
not  have  approved  himself  equal?  Consider  that 
he  was  cast  on  a quiet,  civil  age,  an  age,  a land,  of 
order,  of  law,  of  contentmeirt,  of  art,  of  progress 
by  natural  growth,  of  beautiful  and  healthful  ma- 
terial prosperity,  resting  on  an  achieved  aird  stable 
freedom.  We  saw  that  ocean  only  in  its  calm.  But 
what  if  the  stern  north-east  had  blown  on  that 
ocean,  or  the  hurricane  of  the  tropics  had  vexed  its 
unsounded  depths  ? That  mighty  reason,  that  sover- 
eign brow  and  eye,  that  majestic  port,  that  foiurtain 
of  eloquent  feeling,  of  passion,  of  imaginatioir,  — 
which  seems  to  me  to  have  been  in  him  never  com- 
pletely opened,  fathomless  as  a sea,  and  like  that 
demanding  the  breaking  up  of  the  monsoon,  or  the 
attraction  of  those  vast  bodies  the  lights  of  the  world, 
to  give  it  to  flow,  rise,  and  ebb,  — what  triumph  of 
eloquence  the  ages  ever  witnessed  was  beyond  those 
marvellous  faculties,  in  their  utmost  excitement,  to 
achieve  ? 

Assisted  by  that  unequalled  organ  of  speech,  the 
Greek  language  of  Demosthenes,  might  he  not  have 
rolled  an  equal  thunder,  and  darted  air  equal  flame  ? — 


20U 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF 


miglit  he  not  have  breathed  virtue  into  the  decay  of 
Greece,  and  turned  back  for  a space  the  inevitable 
hour  ? 

Tlie  shaken  pillars  of  the  old  constitution  of  Roman 
liberty,  the  old  grand  traditions  dishonored,  the  dig- 
nity of  the  senate,  the  privilege  of  the  people  assailed, 

— would  not  their  last  great  champion  have  acknowl- 
edged in  him  an  ally  worthy  of  the  glorious,  falling 
cause? 

And  when  the  transcendent  question  of  our  Inde- 
pendence was  to  be  debated,  was  he  not  the  very  man 
to  stand  by  Adams,  and  second  the  motion  which  has 
made  the  illustrious  mover  immortal?  The  rights  of 
the  colonies  in  point  of  law  on  their  charters ; the 
violations  of  these  rights ; the  larger  rights  of  man, 

— the  right  to  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness ; 
the  right  — the  conditions,  the  occasions,  of  the  right 

— to  the  national  life,  — would  not  he,  too,  have  set 
these  to  view  transparent,  exact,  clear  as  a sunbeam? 
When  reason  has  convinced,  and  conscience  has  in- 
structed, would  not  that  hand,  too,  have  swept  with 
as  all-commanding  power  the  chords  of  the  greater 
passions, — grief,  indignation,  pride,  hope,  self-sacri- 
fice,— whose  music  is  at  once  the  inspirer  and  the 
utterance  of  the  sublimest  moments  of  history,  through 
which  the  first  voices  of  the  sense  and  the  love  of 
country  are  breathed  ? 

And  then,  as  the  vision  of  independent  America 
gleamed  through  the  future,  would  he  not  already, 
with  a soul  as  trustful,  a trumpet-tone  as  confident,  a 
voice  of  prophecy  as  sure  as  on  that  later,  festal  day, 
from  the  Rock  of  the  Pilgrims,  bid  the  distant  gener- 
ations hail  ? And  jmt,  in  that  want  of  grandest 


KEVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS. 


201 


opportunities  for  the  effort  of  his  powers,  had  he  large 
compensation,  happier,  nor  less  glorious,  when  he 
rose  and  shone  and  set  on  that  unclouded  sky,  and  on 
that  wide,  deep  calm  of  moral  nature,  than  in  soaring, 
as  he  would  have  soared,  on  all  its  storms,  and  wield- 
ing, as  he  would  have  wielded,  all  its  thunders. 


202 


DEDICATION  OF  THE 


ADDRESS 


DELIVERED  IN  SOUTH  DANVERS,  AT  THE  DEDICATION  OP 
THE  PEABODY  INSTITUTE,  SEPTEMBER  29,  1864. 


I ESTEEM  it.  a great  privilege  to  have  been  allowed 
to  unite  with  my  former  townsmen,  and  the  friends 
of  so  many  years, — by  whose  seasonable  kindness 
the  earliest  struggles  of  my  professional  life  were 
observed  and  helped,  — the  fiiends  of  all  its  periods, 
— so  I have  found  them,  — to  unite  with  you  in  the 
transaction  for  which  we  are  assembled.  In  all  re- 
spects it  is  one  of  rare  interest.  You  have  come 
together  to  express  anew  your  appreciation  of  the 
character  and  the  objects  of  the  giver  of  this  splendid 
charity,  to  repeat  and  republish  your  grateful  accept- 
ance of  it,  and  to  dedicate  this  commodious  and 
beautiful  structure  to  its  faithful  and  permanent 
administration.  You  open  to-day  for  Danvers  — its 
inhabitants  of  this  time,  and  all  its  successions  — the 
Lyceum  of  knowledge  and  morality.  Under  this 
dedication  it  shall  stand  while  Massachusetts  shall 
stand.  This  edifice  will  crumble,  certainly,  to  be 
replaced  with  another ; this  generation  of  the  first 
recipients  of  the  gift,  — the  excellent  giver  himself,  — 
will  soon  pass  away  ; but  while  our  social  and  civil 
system  shall  endure  ; while  law  shall  be  administered  ; 
while  the  sentiments  of  justice,  gratitude,  and  honor. 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


203 


shall  beat  in  one  heart  on  your  territory,  the  charity 
is  immortal. 

For  every  one  among  you  it  is  set  open  equally. 
No  fear  that  the  religious  opinions  he  holds  sacred 
Avill  be  assailed,  or  the  politics  he  cultivates  insulted, 
will  keep  back  any  from  his  share  of  the  diffusive 
good.  Other  places  and  other  occasions  you  reserve 
for  dissent  and  disputation,  and  struggle  for  mastery, 
and  the  sharp  competitions  of  life.  But  here  shall 
be  peace  and  reconciliation.  Within  these  walls,  the 
knowledge  and  the  morality,  which  are  of  no  creed 
and  no  party ; which  are  graceful  and  profitable  for 
all  alike,  — of  every  creed  and  every  party ; which 
are  true  and  real  to  every  mind,  as  mind,  and  from 
the  nature  of  mind,  — and  to  every  conscience,  as 
conscience,  and  from  the  nature  of  conscience  ; and 
which  are  the  same  thing,  therefore,  in  every  brain 
and  every  heart,  — this  alone,  — knowledge  and 
morality,  broad,  free,  as  humanity  itself,  — is  to  be 
inculcated  here. 

Happy  and  privileged  the  community,  beyond  the 
measure  of  New  England  privilege  even,  for  whom 
such  high  educational  instrumentalities  are  thus 
munificently  provided,  and  made  perpetual ! Happy 
especially,  if  they  shall  rouse  themselves  to  improve 
them  to  their  utmost  capacity,  — if  they  shall  feel 
that  they  are  summoned  by  a new  motive,  and  by  an 
obligation  unfelt  before,  to  an  unaccustomed  effort 
to  appropriate  to  their  hearts  and  their  reason  all 
the  countless  good  which  is  hidden  in  knowledge 
and  a right  life,  — an  effort  to  become  — more  than 
before  — wise,  bright,  thoughtful,  ingenious,  good  ; to 
attain  to  the  highest  degree  of  learning  which  is  com- 


204 


DEDICATION  OF  THE 


patible  with  the  practical  system  of  things  of  which 
they  are  part ; to  feed  the  immortal,  spiritual  nature 
with  an  ampler  and  higher  nutrition,  enriching 
memory  with  new  facts,  judgment  with  sounder 
thoughts,  taste  with  more  beautiful  images,  the  moral 
sense  with  more  of  all  things  whatsoever  they  are 
lovely,  honest,  and  of  good  report,  — the  reality  of 
virtue,  the  desert  of  praise. 

Happy,  almost,  above  all,  the  noble  giver,  whose 
heart  is  large  enough  to  pay,  of  the  abundance  which 
crowns  his  life, — to  pay  out  of  his  single  means,  — 
the  whole  debt  this  generation  owes  the  future.  I 
honor  and  love  him,  not  merely  that  his  energy, 
sense,  and  integrity  have  raised  him  from  a poor  boy 
— waiting  in  that  shop  yonder  — to  spread  a table 
for  the  entertainment  of  princes,  — not  merely  be- 
cause the  brilliant  professional  career  which  has  given 
him  a position  so  commanding  in  the  mercantile  and 
social  circles  of  the  commercial  capital  of  the  world 
has  left  him  as  completely  American  — the  heart  as 
wholly  untravelled  — as  when  he  first  stepped  on  the 
shore  of  England  to  seek  his  fortune,  sighing  to  think 
that  the  ocean  rolled  between  him  and  home  ; jealous 
of  honor ; wakeful  to  our  interests ; helping  his  coun- 
try, not  by  swagger  and  vulgarity,  but  by  recommend- 
ing her  credit;  vindicating  her  title  to  be  trusted  on 
the  exchange  of  nations  ; squandering  himself  in  hos- 
pitalities to  her  citizens  — a man  of  deeds,  not  of 
words,  — not  for  these  merely  I love  and  honor  him, 
but  because  his  nature  is  affectionate  and  unsophisti- 
cated still ; because  his  memory  comes  over  so  lovingly 
to  this  sweet  Argos,  to  the  schoolroom  of  his  child- 
hood, to  the  old  shop  and  kind  master,  and  the  graves 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


205 


of  his  father  and  mother ; and  because  he  has  had 
the  sagacity,  and  the  character  to  indulge  these  un- 
estinguished  aifections  in  a gift,  not  of  vanity  and 
ostentation,  but  of  supreme  and  durable  utility. 

I have  found  it  quite  incompatible  with  my  en- 
gagements and  health  to  methodize  the  thoughts 
which  have  crowded  on  my  mind  in  the  prospect  of 
meeting  you  to-day,  into  any  thing  like  elaborate  or 
extended  discourse;  but  I have  certainly  wished, — 
instead  of  mere  topics  of  congratulation ; or  instead 
of  diffusing  myself  exclusively  on  the  easy  and  obvi- 
ous commonplaces  of  the  utility  of  knowledge,  and 
the  beauty  of  virtue ; or  instead  of  the  mere  indul- 
gence of  those  trains  of  memory  and  sensibility,  to 
which  the  spectacle  of  old  friends,  and  of  the  chil- 
dren and  grandchildren  of  other  friends,  “ whom  my 
dim  eyes  in  vain  explore,”  almost  irrepressively  im- 
pels me,  — instead  of  this,  to  submit  a practical  sug- 
gestion or  two  in  regard  to  the  true  modes  of  turning 
the  Lyceum  to  its  utmost  account ; and,  then,  in 
regard  to  the  motives  you  are  under  to  do  so.  These 
suggestions  I make  diffidently ; and,  therefore,  I 
would  not  make  them  at  all,  but  from  the  conviction 
that  in  your  hands  they  may  come  to  assume  some 
little  value. 

I take  it  for  granted  that  the  declared  wishes  of 
Mr.  Peabody  will  be  considered  as  determining,  quite 
peremptorily,  the  general  mode  of  administering  this 
fund.  Better  educational  instrumentalities,  indeed, 
no  man’s  wisdom,  in  the  circumstances,  could  have 
devised.  Courses  of  lectures,  then,  and  a library  of 
good  books,  these  are  to  form  the  means  of  the  Ly- 
ceum ; and  the  problem  is,  in  what  way  can  you 
make  the  most  of  them. 


206 


DEDICATION  OF  THE 


It  may  seem  a little  exaggerated  at  its  first  state- 
ment, and  perhaps  alarming,  but  it  will  serve  at  least 
to  introduce  my  more  particular  ideas,  to  say  that 
the  true  view  for  you  to  take  of  this  large  provision  of 
mental  means,  and  of  your  relations  to  it,  is  to  regard 
yourselves  as  having  become  by  its  bestowment  perma- 
nently the  members  of  an  institution  which  undertakes 
to  teach  you  by  lectures  and  a library.  Herein  exact!}' 
is  the  peculiarity  of  your  new  privilege.  You  are  no 
longer,  as  heretofore  it  has  been  with  yoii,  merely  to 
be  indulged  the  opportunity  of  a few  evenings  in  a 
year  to  listen,  for  the  amusement  of  it,  to  half  a dozen 
discourses  of  as  many  different  speakers,  on  as  many 
totally  disconnected  topics,  treated  possibly  for  osten- 
tation, and  adapted  only  to  entertain,  — but,  however 
treated,  and  whatever  fit  for,  totally  forgotten  in  an 
hour ; preceded,  followed  up,  and  assisted,  by  no 
preparation  and  no  effort  of  the  hearer ; giving  no 
direction  whatever  to  his  thoughts  or  readings  ; sepa- 
rated from  each  other,  even  while  the  lyceum  season 
lasts,  by  a week  of  labor,  devoted,  even  in  its  leisure 
moments,  to  trains  of  thought  or  snatches  of  reading 
wholly  unauxiliar  and  irrelative,  and  for  nine  months 
or  ten  months  of  the  year  totally  discontinued. 
Thanks  to  this  munificence,  you  are  come  to  the  frui- 
tion of  far  other  opportunities.  An  institution  of 
learning,  in  the  justest  sense  of  the  term,  is  provided 
for  you.  Lectures  are  to  be  delivered  for  you  through 
a far  larger  portion  of  the  year  ; a library,  which  will 
assuredly  swell  to  thousands  of  volumes,  is  to  be 
accumulated  under  your  eye,  from  which  you  may 
derive  the  means  of  accompanying  any  lecturer  on 
any  subject  from  evening  to  evening ; and  this  sys- 


PEABODY  IXSTITUTE. 


207 


tern  of  provision  is  permanent,  — henceforth  part  and 
parcel,  through  its  corporate  existence,  of  the  civil 
identity  and  privilege  of  Danvers.  You  enter,  there- 
fore, to-day — you  may  enter  — a new  and  important 
school ; as  durably  such,  as  truly  such,  — having 
regard  to  differences  of  circumstantial  details,  — as 
the  Seminary  at  Andover,  or  the  Law  School  at  Cam- 
bridge, or  the  College  of  iMedicine  at  Philadelphia,  — 
all  of  them  schools,  too,  and  all  teaching  by  lectures 
and  a library. 

Setting  out  with  this  idea,  let  me  say  a word  on 
the  lectures  of  this  school, — what  they  should  be, 
and  how  they  should  be  heard,  assisted,  and  turned 
to  account  b}^  those  who  hear  them.  And  I submit 
to  the  trustees  of  the  charity  to  reflect,  whether  a 
succession  of  such  discourses  as  I have  indicated,  on 
disconnected  topics,  by  different  speakers,  — however 
brilliant  and  able  the  individual  performer  may  be,  — 
will,  in  the  long  run,  yield  the  good,  or  any  approxi- 
mation to  the  good,  which  would  be  derived  from 
courses  of  lectures  more  or  less  extended,  like  the 
Lowell  Lectures  of  Boston,  eaeh  by  a single  person, 
devoted  to  the  more  exact  and  thorough  treatment  of 
a single  important  subject. 

Consider  that  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  among 
you  is  the  aim  of  the  founder.  The  imparting  of 
knowledge  is  the  task  which  he  sets  his  lecturer  to 
do  ; and  of  knowledge  in  any  proper  sense,  — knowl- 
edge within  the  legal  meaning  of  this  charity,  — how 
much  can  he  impart  who  comes  once  in  a year,  once 
in  a lifetime,  perhaps,  before  his  audience,  a stranger, 
addresses  it  an  hour,  and  goes  his  way?  He  can 
teach  little,  if  he  tries ; and  the  chances  are  infinite. 


208 


DEDICATION  OE  THE 


that  to  teach  that  little  he  will  not  try.  The  tempta- 
tions and  the  tendencies  of  that  system  of  exhibition 
are  irresistible,  to  make  him  despair  of  conveying 
knowledge,  and  devote  himself  to  producing  effect ; 
to  select  some  topic  mainly  of  emotional  or  imagina- 
tive capability ; and  even  then  to  sacrifice  the  beauty 
which  is  in  truth  to  the  counterfeit  presentment  which 
mocks  it  in  glitter,  exaggeration,  ingenuity,  and  in- 
tensity. If  he  would  spend  his  hour  in  picking  up 
and  explaining  a shell  or  pebble  from  the  shore  of  the 
ocean  of  knowledge,  it  were  something ; but  that 
seems  unworthy  of  himself,  and  of  the  expectations 
which  await  him,  and  up  he  soars,  or  down  he  sinks, 
to  rhetoric  or  bathos  ; and  when  his  little  part  is  best 
discharged,  it  is  not  much  more  than  the  lovely  song 
of  one  who  hath  a pleasant  voice,  and  can  play  well 
upon  an  instrument. 

I do  not  say  that  such  lectures  are  hurtful.  I do 
not  deny  them  a certain  capacity  of  usefulness.  I do 
not  say  they  are  not  all  which  you  should  look  for  in 
our  lyceums,  as  ordinarily  they  are  constituted.  They 
are  all  which,  for  the  present,  you  will  yourselves, 
perhaps,  be  able  to  provide.  But  to  an  endowed  and 
durable  foundation  like  this,  they  are  totally  inappli- 
cable. They  would  be  no  more  nor  less,  after  you 
shall  be  completely  organized,  than  a gross  abuse  of 
the  charity,  and  violation  of  the  will,  of  the  giver. 
It  is  not  merely  that  they  would  teach  no  knowledge, 
and  would  not  assume  to  do  it,  and  that  the  nature 
and  laws  of  that  kind  of  composition,  and  the  con- 
ditions of  its  existence,  totally  exclude  such  a func- 
tion. It  goes  further  than  that.  The  relations 
between  teacher  and  pupil,  under  such  a system. 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


209 


never  exist  at  all.  The  audience  never  think  of 
coming  before  the  lecturer  to  have  the  truths  of  the 
last  lecture  retouched,  and  new  ones  deduced  or 
added ; to  have  the  difficulties,  of  which  they  have 
been  thinking  since  they  heard  him  before,  resolved ; 
to  ask  questions ; to  be  advised  what  authors  to  read, 
01  what  experiments  to  undertake,  on  the  subject  he 
is  illustrating.  They  carry  no  part  of  his  sermon 
into  the  week  with  them ; and  he  never  knows  or 
asks  whether  they  do  or  not.  In  the  nature  of  things, 
this  all  must  be  so.  It  is  of  the  essential  conception 
of  knowledge,  as  the  founder  here  uses  the  word,  — 
knowledge  as  applicable  to  any  thing,  — that  it  in- 
cludes many  particulars  of  fact  or  idea,  arranged 
by  method,  that  is,  arranged  according  to  their  true 
relations. 

Whatever  it  be  on  which  knowledge  is  to  be  im- 
parted, — whether  one  of  the  phenomena  of  nature, 
as  vegetable  life,  or  insensible  motion,  or  the  periods 
of  the  stars ; or  some  great  aspect  of  humanity,  as 
the  history  of  a renowned  age  or  event,  pregnant  of  a 
stupendous  future,  or  a marked  man  of  the  heroic  and 
representative  type ; or  one  of  the  glorious  produc- 
tions of  mind,  as  a constitution  of  free  government, 
or  a union  of  States  into  one  nationality,  a great  lit- 
erature, or  even  a great  poem,  — whatever  it  be,  that 
which  makes  up  the  consummate  knowledge  of  it  is 
at  once  so  much  a unity  and  an  infinity,  — it  unfolds 
itself  into  so  many  particulars,  one  deduced  from 
another  by  series  ever  progressive,  one  modifying 
another,  every  one  requiring  to  be  known  in  order 
that  any  one  may  be  exactly  known,  — that  if  you 
mean  to  teach  it  by  lectures  at  all,  you  must  substi- 

14 


210 


DEDICATION  OF  THE 


tute  a totally  different  system.  It  must  he  done  hy 
courses  continuously  delivered,  and  frequently,  hy  the 
same  person,  and  having  for  their  object  to  achieve  the 
exact  and  exhaustive  treatment  of  something,  — some 
science,  some  art,  some  age,  some  transaction,  that 
changed  the  face  of  fortune  and  history,  — something 
worthy  to  be  completely  known.  He  whom  you  call 
to  labor  on  this  foundation  must  understand  that  it 
is  knowledge  which  is  demanded  of  him.  He  must 
assure  himself  that  he  is  to  have  his  full  time  to  im- 
part it.  He  must  come  to  the  work,  appreciating 
that  he  is  not  to  be  judged  by  the  brilliancy  or  dul- 
ness  of  one  passage,  or  one  evening  ; but  that  he 
must  stand  or  fall  by  the  mass  and  aggregate  of  his 
teachings.  He  is  to  feel  that  he  is  an  instructor,  not 
the  player  of  a part  on  a stage ; that  he  is  to  teach 
truth,  and  not  cut  a rhetorical  caper  ; enthusiastic  in 
the  pursuit,  exact  and  veracious  as  a witness  under 
oath  hi  the  announcement.  I would  have  him  able 
to  say  of  the  subject  which  he  treats,  what  Cousin 
said  of  philosophy  in  the  commencement  of  one  of 
his  celebrated  courses,  after  a long  interruption  by 
the  instability  of  the  government  of  France  : “ De- 
voted entirely  to  it,  after  having  had  the  honor  to 
suffer  a little  in  its  service,  I come  to  consecrate  to  its 
illustration,  unreservedly,  all  that  remains  to  me  of 
strength  and  of  life.” 

And,  now,  how  are  you  to  hear  such  courses  of 
lectures?  Essentially  by  placing  yourselves  in  the 
relation  of  pupils  to  the  lecturer.  For  the  whole 
period  of  his  course,  let  the  subject  he  teaches  compose 
the  stud}’’  of  the  hours,  or  fragments  of  hours  ivhich 
you  give  to  study  at  all.  You  would  read  something. 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


211 


on  some  topic,  every  day,  in  all  events.  Let  that 
reading,  less  or  more,  relate  exclusively  or  mainly  to 
the  department  of  knowledge  on  which  you  go  to 
hear  him.  If  he  knows  his  business,  he  will  recom- 
mend all  the  best  books  pertaining  to  that  depart- 
ment, and  on  these  the  first  purchases  for  the  Library 
will  be  quite  likely  in  part  to  be  expended.  Attend 
the  instructions  of  his  lips  by  the  instruction  of  the 
printed  treatise.  In  this  way  only  can  you,  by  any 
possibility,  avail  yourselves  at  once  of  all  that  books 
and  teachers  can  do.  In  this  way  only  can  you  make 
one  cooperate  with  the  other.  In  this  way  only  — in 
a larger  view  — can  you  rationally  count  on  consider- 
able and  ever-increasing  acquisitions  of  knowledge. 
Remember  that  your  opportunities  for  such  attain- 
ments in  this  school,  after  all,  are  to  be  few  and  brief. 
You  and  I are  children  of  labor  at  last.  The  prac- 
tical, importunate,  ever-recurring  duties  of  the  calling 
to  which  we  are  assigned  must  have  our  best  of  life. 
What  are  your  vacations,  or  mine,  from  work,  for  the 
still  air  of  delightful  studies  ? They  are  only  divers 
infinitely  minute  particles  of  time,  — half-hours  before 
the  morning  or  mid-day  meal  is  quite  ready,  — days, 
now  and  then,  not  sick  enough  for  the  physician  nor 
well  enough  for  work, — a rainy  afternoon,  — the 
priceless  evening,  when  the  long  task  is  done,  — these 
snatches  and  interstitial  spaces,  — moments  literal 
and  fleet,  — these  are  all  the  chances  that  we  can  bor- 
row or  create  for  the  luxury  of  learning.  How  diffi- 
cult it  is  to  arrest  these  moments,  to  aggregate  them, 
to  till  them,  as  it  were,  to  make  them  day  by  day 
extend  our  knowledge,  refine  our  tastes,  accomplish 
our  whole  culture,  to  scatter  in  them  the  seed  that 


212 


DEDICATION  OF  THE 


shall  grow  up,  as  Jeremy  Taylor  has  said,  “ to  crowns 
and  sceptres  ” of  a true  wisdom,  — how  difficult  is 
this  we  all  appreciate.  To  turn  them  to  any  profit  at 
all,  we  must  religiously  methodize  them.  Desultory 
reading  and  desultory  reverie  are  to  be  for  ever  aban- 
doned. A page  in  this  book,  and  another  in  that,  — 
ten  minutes’  thought  or  conversation  on  this  subject, 
and  the  next  ten  on  that,  — this  strenuous  and  spe- 
cious idleness  is  not  the  way  by  which  our  intervals 
of  labor  are  to  open  to  us  the  portals  of  the  crystal 
palace  of  truth.  Such  reading,  too,  and  such  think- 
ing are  an  indulgence  by  which  the  mind  loses  its 
power,  — by  which  curiosity  becomes  sated,  ennui 
supervenes,  and  the  love  of  learning  itself  is  irrev- 
ocably lost.  Therefore,  I say,  methodize  your  mo- 
ments. Let  your  reading  be  systematic  ever,  so 
that  every  interval  of  rest  shall  have  its  book  pro- 
vided for  it ; and  during  the  courses  of  your  lectures, 
let  those  books  treat  the  topics  of  the  course. 

Let  me  illustrate  my  meaning.  You  are  attending, 
I will  say,  a course  on  astronomy,  consisting  of  two 
lectures  in  a week,  for  two  months.  Why  should  you 
not  regard  yourselves  for  these  two  months  as  stu- 
dents of  astronomy,  so  far  as  you  can  study  any  thing, 
or  think  of  any  thing,  outside  of  your  business  ; and 
why  not  determine  to  know  nothing  else  ; but  to  know 
as  much  of  that  as  you  can,  for  all  that  time  ? Con- 
sider what  this  would  involve,  and  what  it  might 
accomplish.  Suppose  that  you,  by  strenuous  and 
persistent  effort,  hold  that  one  subject  fully  in  view 
for  so  long  a period  ; that  you  do  your  utmost  to  turn 
your  thoughts  and  conversation  oij  it ; that  you  write 
out  the  lecture,  from  notes  or  memory,  as  soon  as  it  is 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


213 


given,  and  reperuse  and  master  it  before  you  hear  the 
next ; that  you  read,  not  on  other  parts  of  the  science, 
but  on  the  very  parts  which  the  lecturer  has  arrived 
at  and  is  discussing ; that  you  devote  an  hour  each 
evening  to  surveying  the  architecture  of  the  heavens 
for  yourselves,  seeking  to  learn,  not  merely  to  indulge 
a vague  and  wandering  sort  of  curiosity,  or  even  a 
grand,  but  indistinct  and  general  emotion,  as  if  listen- 
ing to  imaginary  music  of  spheres,  but  to  aspire  to 
the  science  of  the  stars,  to  fix  their  names,  to  group 
them  in  classes  and  constellations,  to  trace  their  paths, 
their  reciprocal  influence,  their  courses  everlasting,  — 
suppose  that  thus,  and  by  voluntary  continuous  ex- 
ertion, you  concentrate  on  one  great  subject,  for  so 
considerable  a period,  all  the  moments  of  time  and 
snatches  of  hasty  reading  and  opportunities  of  thought 
that  otherwise  would  have  wasted  themselves  every- 
where, and  gone  off  by  insensible  evaporation,  — do 
you  not  believe  that  it  would  tell  decisively  upon 
your  mental  culture  and  your  positive  attainments? 
Would  not  the  effort  of  attention  so  prolonged  and 
exclnsive  be  a discipline  itself  inestimable?  Would 
not  the  particulars  of  so  much  well-systematized  read- 
ing and  thought  arrange  themselves  in  your  minds  in 
the  form  of  science,  — harder  to  forget  than  to  re- 
member ? and  might  you  not  hope  to  begin  to  feel  the 
delicious  sensations  implied  in  growing  consciously  in 
the  knowledge  of  truth? 

I have  taken  for  granted,  in  these  thoughts  on  the 
best  mode  of  administering  the  charity,  that  your 
own  earnest  purpose  will  be  to  turn  it,  by  some  mode, 
to  its  utmost  account.  The  gratitude  and  alacrity 
with  which  you  accepted  the  gift  show  quite  well 


214 


DEDICATION  OF  THE 


how  you  appreciate  the  claims  of  knowledge  and  the 
dignity  of  mental  culture,  and  what  value  you  set 
upon  this  rare  and  remarkable  appropriation  to  uses 
so  lofty.  I have  no  need,  therefore,  to  exhort  you  to 
profit  of  these  opportunities ; but  there  are  one  or 
two  views  on  which  I have  formerly  reflected  some- 
what, and  which  I will  briefly  lay  before  you. 

It  is  quite  common  to  say,  and  much  more  common 
to  think,  without  saying  it  aloud,  that  mental  culture 
and  learning,  above  the  elements,  may  well  claim  a 
high  place,  as  luxuries  and  indulgence,  and  even  a 
grand  utility,  for  those  whose  condition  allows  them 
a lifetime  for  such  luxury  and  such  indulgence,  and 
the  appropriation  of  such  a good ; but  that  for  labor 
— properly  so  called  — they  can  do  little,  even  if 
labor  could  pause  to  acquire  them.  Not  so  has  the 
founder  of  this  charity  reasoned ; nor  so  will  you. 
He  would  say,  and  so  do  I,  — Seek  for  mental  power, 
and  the  utmost  practicable  love  and  measure  of  knowl- 
edge, exactly  because  they  will  do  so  much  for  labor ; 
first,  to  inform  and  direct  its  exertions  ; secondly,  to 
refine  and  adorn  it,  and  disengage  it  from  too  absolute 
an  immersion  in  matter,  and  bring  it  into  relation  to 
the  region  of  ideas  and  spirituality  and  abstraction  ; 
and,  thirdly,  to  soothe  its  fatigues  and  relieve  its 
burdens  and  compose  its  discontent. 

True  is  it,  of  all  our  power,  eminence,  and  consid- 
eration, as  of  our  existence,  that  the  condition  is  labor. 
Our  lot  is  labor.  There  is  no  reversal  of  the  doom 
of  man  for  ns.  But  is  that  a reason  why  we  should 
not  aspire  to  the  love  and  attainment  of  learning,  and 
to  the  bettering  of  the  mind?  For  that  veiy  reason 
we  should  do  so.  Does  not  the  industry  of  a people 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


215 


at  last  rest  upon  and  embody  the  intellect  of  the 
people  ? Is  not  its  industry  as  its  intellect  ? 

I say,  then,  forasmuch  as  we  are  children  of  labor, 
cultivate  mental  power.  Pointing  the  friends  of  hu- 
manity, and  of  America,  to  this  charity,  I say  to 
them,  go  and  do  likewise.  Diffuse  mental  power. 
Give  it  to  more  than  have  it  now.  Give  it  in  a higher 
degree.  Give  it  in  earlier  life.  Think  how  stupen- 
dous, yet  how  practicable  it  were  to  make,  by  an 
improved  popular  culture,  the  entire  laborious  masses 
of  New  England  more  ingenious,  more  inventive, 
more  prudent  than  now  they  are.  How  much  were 
effected,  — how  much  for  power;  how  much  for  en- 
joyment ; how  much  for  a true  glory,  — by  this  acces- 
sion to  the  quality  of  its  mind.  It  would  show  itself 
in  half  a century  in  every  acre  of  her  surface.  In 
the  time  it  would  save,  in  the  strength  it  would  im- 
part, in  the  waste  it  would  prevent,  in  the  more 
sedulous  husbandry  of  all  the  gifts  of  God,  in  richer 
soils,  created  or  opened  ; in  the  great  cooperating 
forces  of  nature  — air,  water,  steam,  fertility  — yoked 
in  completer  obedience  to  the  car  of  labor ; in  the 
multiplicity  of  useful  inventions,  those  unfailing 
exponents,  as  well  as  promoters,  of  popular  mental 
activity  and  reach ; in  the  aggregate  of  production, 
swelled,  diversified,  enriched ; in  the  refluent  wave 
of  wealth,  subsiding  here  and  there  in  reservoirs,  in 
lakes,  in  springs  perennial,  but  spread,  too,  every- 
where in  rills  and  streamlets,  and  falling  in  the  de- 
scent of  dew  and  the  dropping  of  the  cloud,  — in 
these  things  you  would  see  the  peaceful  triumphs  of 
an  improved  mind.  Nor  in  these  alone,  or  chiefly. 
More  beautiful  far,  and  more  precious,  would  they 


216 


DEDICATION  OF  THE 


beam  abroad  in  the  elevation  of  the  standard  of  com- 
fortable life ; in  the  heightened  sense  of  individual 
responsibility  and  respectability,  and  a completer 
individual  development ; in  haj^pier  homes  ; in  better 
appreciation  of  the  sacredness  of  property,  and  the 
sovereignty  of  justice  in  the  form  of  law ; in  more 
time  found  and  better  prized,  when  the  tasks  of  the 
day  were  all  well  done,  — more  time  found  and  better 
prized  for  the  higher  necessities  of  the  intellect  and 
soul. 

I have  not  time  to  dwell  now  on  the  second  reason, 
by  which  I suggested  that  labor  should  be  persuaded 
to  seek  knowledge,  though  it  would  well  deserve  a 
fuller  handling.  You  find  that  reason  in  the  ten- 
dency of  culture  and  learning  to  refine  the  work-day 
life,  and  adorn  it ; to  disengage  it  from  the  contacts 
of  matter,  and  elevate  it  to  the  sphere  of  ideas  and 
abstraction  and  spirituality ; to  withdraw,  as  Dr. 
Johnson  has  said,  — “ to  withdraw  us  from  the  power 
of  our  senses  ; to  make  the  past,  the  distant,  or  the 
future  predominate  over  the  present,  and  thus  to  ad- 
vance us  in  the  dignity  of  thinking  beings.”  Surely 
we  need  not  add  a self-inflicted  curse  to  that  which 
punished  the  fall.  To  earn  our  bread  in  the  sweat 
of  our  brow  is  ordained  to  us  certainly  ; but  not, 
therefore,  to  forget  in  whose  image  we  were  made, 
nor  to  suffer  all  beams  of  the  original  brightness  to 
go  out.  Who  has  doomed  us,  or  any  of  us,  to  labor 
so  exclusive  and  austere,  that  only  half,  the  lower 
half,  of  our  nature  can  survive  it?  The  unrest  of 
avarice,  or  ambition,  or  vanity,  may  do  it ; but  no 
necessity  of  our  being,  and  no  appointment  of  its 
author.  Shall  we,  of  our  own  election,  abase  our- 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


2]  7 

selves?  Do  you  feel  that  the  mere  tasks  of  daily 
labor  ever  employ  the  whole  man  ? Have  you  not  a 
conscious  nature,  other  and  beside  that  which  tills  the 
earth,  drives  the  plane,  squares  the  stone,  creates  the 
fabric  of  art,  — a nature  intellectual,  spiritual,  moral, 
capacious  of  science,  capacious  of  truth  beyond  the 
sphere  of  sense,  with  large  discourse  of  reason,  look- 
ing before  and  after,  and  taking  hold  on  that  within 
the  veil  ? 

What  forbids  that  this  nature  shall  have  its  daily 
bread  also  day  by  day  ? What  forbids  that  it  have 
time  to  nourish  its  sympathy  with  all  kindred  human 
blood,  by  studying  the  grand  facts  of  universal  his- 
tory ; to  learn  to  look  beyond  the  chaotic  flux  and 
reflux  of  mere  appearances,  which  are  the  outside  of 
the  world  around  it,  into  their  scientific  relations  and 
essential  quality ; to  soar  from  effects  to  causes,  and 
through  causes  to  the  first ; to  begin  to  recognize 
and  to  love,  here  and  now,  in  waning  moon  or  star  of 
evening,  or  song  of  solemn  bird,  or  fall  of  water,  or 
“self-born  carol  of  infancy,”  or  transcendent  land- 
scape, or  glorious  self-sacrifice  — to  begin  to  recog- 
nize and  love  in  these  that  beauty  here  which  shall  be 
its  dwelling-place  and  its  vesture  in  the  life  to  come  ; 
to  accustom  itself  to  discern,  in  all  vicissitudes  of 
things,  the  changed  and  falling  leaf,  the  golden  har- 
vest, the  angry  sigh  of  November’s  wind,  the  storm 
of  snow,  the  temporary  death  of  nature,  the  opening 
of  the  chambers  of  the  South,  and  the  unresting 
round  of  seasons  — to  discern  not  merely  the  sublime 
circle  of  eternal  change,  but  the  unfailing  law,  flow- 
ing from  the  infinite  Mind,  and  the  “ varied  God  ” — 
filling  and  moving,  and  in  all  things,  yet  personal  and 
apart ! What  forbids  it  to  cultivate  and  confirm 


218 


DEDICATJON  OF  THE 


“ The  glorious  habit  by  which  sense  is  made 
Subservient  still  to  moral  purposes, 

Auxiliar  to  divine  ” ? 

What  forbids  that  it  grow 

“ Accustomed  to  desires  that  feed 
On  fruitage  gathered  from  the  Tree  of  Life  ” ? 

I do  not  sa}"  that  every  man,  even  in  a condition 
of  competence,  can  exemplify  this  nobler  culture  and 
this  rarer  knowledge.  But  I will  say  that  the  exac- 
tions of  labor  do  not  hinder  it.  Recall  a familiar, 
though  splendid  and  remarkable  instance  or  two. 

Burns  reaped  as  much  and  as  well  as  the  duller 
companion  by  his  side,  and  meantime  was  conceiving 
an  immortal  song  of  Scotland  ; and  Hugh  Miller  was 
just  as  painstaking  a stone-mason  and  as  good  a 
workman  as  if  he  had  not  so  husbanded  his  spare 
half-hours  and  moments  as  to  become,  while  an  ap- 
prentice and  journeyman,  a profound  geologist  and 
master  of  a clear  and  charming  English  style.  But 
how  much  more  a man  was  the  poet  and  the  geolo- 
gist ; how  far  fuller  the  consciousness  of  being  ; how 
much  larger  the  daily  draught  of  that  admiration, 
hope,  and  love,  which  are  the  life  and  voice  of 
souls ! 

I come  to  add  the  final  reason  why  the  working 
man,  by  whom  I mean  the  whole  brotherhood  of  in- 
dustry, should  set  on  mental  culture  and  that  knowl- 
edge which  is  wisdom  a value  so  high  — only  not 
supreme  — subordinate  alone  to  the  exercises  and 
hopes  of  religion  itself.  And  that  is,  that  therein 
he  shall  so  surely  find  rest  from  labor  ; succor  under 
its  burdens  ; forgetfulness  of  its  cares,  composure  in 
its  annoyances.  It  is  not  always  that  the  busy  day 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


219 


is  followed  by  the  peaceful  uight.  It  is  not  always 
that  fatigue  wins  sleep.  Often  some  vexation  out- 
side of  the  toil  that  has  exhausted  the  frame,  some 
loss  in  a bargain,  some  loss  by  an  insolvency,  some 
unforeseen  rise  or  fall  of  prices,  some  triumph  of  a 
mean  or  fi’audulent  competitor, 

“ The  oppressor’s  wrong,  the  proud  man’s  contumely, 

The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law’s  delay. 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes,” 

some  self-reproach,  perhaps,  follow  you  within  the 
door,  chill  the  fireside,  sow  the  pillow  with  thorns,  and 
the  dark  care  is  last  in  the  last  waking  thought,  and 
haunts  the  vivid  dream.  Happy,  then,  is  he  who  has 
laid  up  in  youth,  and  held  fast  in  all  fortune,  a genu- 
ine and  passionate  love  of  reading.  True  balm  of 
hurt  minds  ; of  surer  and  more  healthful  charm  than 
“ poppy  or  mandragora,  or  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of 
the  world,”  by  that  single  taste,  — by  that  single  ca- 
pacity, he  may  bound  in  a moment  into  the  still  region 
of  delightful  studies,  and  be  at  rest.  He  recalls  the 
annoyance  that  pursues  him  ; reflects  that  he  has 
done  all  that  might  become  a man  to  avoid  or  bear 
it ; he  indulges  in  one  good,  long,  human  sigh,  picks 
up  the  volume  where  the  mark  kept  his  place,  and  in 
about  the  same  time  that  it  takes  the  Mahometan  in 
the  Spectator  to  put  his  head  in  the  bucket  of  water, 
and  raise  it  out,  he  finds  himself  exploring  the  arrow- 
marked  ruins  of  Nineveh  with  Layard ; or  worship- 
ping at  the  spring-head  of  the  stupendous  Missouri, 
with  Clark  and  Lewis  ;■  or  watching  with  Columbus 
for  the  sublime  moment  of  the  rising  of  the  curtain 
from  before  the  great  mystery  of  the  sea  ; or  looking 


220 


DEDICATION  OF  THE 


reverentially  on  while  Socrates  — the  discourse  of 
immortality  ended  — refuses  the  offer  of  escape,  and 
takes  in  his  hand  the  poison,  to  die  in  obedience  to 
the  unrighteous  sentence  of  the  law ; or,  perhaps,  it 
is  in  the  contemplation  of  some  vast  spectacle  or  phe- 
nomenon of  nature  that  he  has  found  his  quick  peace 

— the  renewed  exploration  of  one  of  her  great  laws 

— or  some  glimpse  opened  by  the  pencil  of  St.  Pierre, 
or  Humboldt,  or  Chateaubriand,  or  Wilson,  of  the 
“ blessedness  and  glory  of  her  own  deep,  calm,  and 
mighty  existence.” 

Let  the  case  of  a busy  lawyer  testify  to  the  priceless 
value  of  the  love  of  reading.  He  comes  home,  his 
temples  throbbing,  his  nerves  shattered,  from  a trial  of 
a week  ; surprised  and  alarmed  by  the  charge  of  the 
judge,  and  pale  with  anxiety  about  the  verdict  of  the 
next  morning,  not  at  all  satisfied  with  what  he  has  done 
himself,  though  he  does  not  yet  see  how  he  could 
have  improved  it ; recalling  with  dread  and  self- 
disparagement,  if  not  with  envy,  the  brilliant  effort 
of  his  antagonist,  and  tormenting  himself  with  the 
vain  wish  that  he  could  have  replied  to  it  — and  alto- 
gether a very  miserable  subject,  and  in  as  unfavora- 
ble a condition  to  accept  comfort  from  wife  and 
children  as  poor  Christian  in  the  first  three  pages  of 
the  Pilgrim’s  Progress.  With  a superhuman  effort 
he  opens  his  book,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he 
is  looking  into  the  full  “ orb  of  Homeric  or  Miltonic 
song,”  or  he  stands  in  the  crowd  — breathless,  yet 
swayed  as  forests  or  the  sea  by  winds  — hearing  and 
to  judge  the  Pleadings  for  the  Crown  ; or  the  philos- 
ophy which  soothed  Ciceraor  Boethius  in  their  afflic- 
tions, in  exile,  prison,  and  the  contemplation  of  death, 


PEABODY  INSTITUTE. 


breathes  over  his  petty  cares  like  the  sweet  south  ; or 
Pope  or  Horace  laughs  him  into  good  humor  ; or  he 
walks  with  ^neas  and  the  Sibyl  in  the  mild  light  of 
the  world  of  the  laurelled  dead ; and  the  court-house 
is  as  completely  forgotten  as  the  dreams  of  a pre- 
adamite  life.  Well  may  he  prize  that  endeared  charm, 
so  effectual  and  safe,  without  which  the  brain  had 
long  ago  been  chilled  by  paralysis,  or  set  on  fire  of 
insanity ! 

To  these  uses  and  these  enjoyments,  to  mental 
culture  and  knowledge  and  morality,  the  guide,  the 
grace,  the  solace  of  labor  on  all  his  fields,  we  dedicate 
this  charity ! May  it  bless  you  in  all  your  succes- 
sions! and  may  the  admirable  giver  survive  to  see 
that  the  debt  which  he  recognizes  to  the  future  is 
completely  discharged;  survive  to  enjoy  in  the  grati- 
tude and  love  and  honor  of  this  generation,  the  honor 
and  love  and  gratitude  with  which  the  latest  will 
assuredly  cherish  his  name,  and  partake  and  transmit 
his  benefaction  I 


222 


EERIARKS  ON  THE 


REMARKS  BEFORE  THE  CIRCUIT  COURT 
ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER. 


[Mr.  Webster  died  on  Sunday  morning,  October  24,  1852. 
The  members  of  the  Suffolk  Bar  met  on  Monday  morning,  and 
appointed  a committee  to  report  a series  of  resolutions.  These 
were  read  and  adopted  at  an  adjourned  meeting,  Thursday, 
October  28th,  and  immediately  presented  to  the  Circuit  Court 
of  the  United  States  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts,  Curtis 
and  Sprague,  Justices  on  the  Bench.  They  were  read  by  the 
Hon.  George  S.  Hillard,  after  which  Mr.  Choate  made  the 
following  remarks:] 

May  it  please  your  Honors  : — 

I HAVE  been  requested  by  the  members  of  the 
Bar  of  this  Court  to  add  a few  words  to  the  resolu- 
tions just  read,  in  which  they  have  embodied,  as  they 
were  able,  their  sorrow  for  the  death  of  their  beloved 
and  illustrious  member  and  countryman,  Mr.  Web- 
ster ; their  estimation  of  his  character,  life,  and  gen- 
ius ; their  sense  of  the  bereavement,  — to  the  country 
as  to  his  friends,  — incapable  of  repair ; the  pride, 
the  fondness,  — the  filial  and  the  patriotic  pride  and 
fondness,  — with  which  they  cherish,  and  would  con- 
sign to  history  to  cherish,  the  memory  of  a great  and 
good  man. 

And  yet  I could  earnestly  have  desired  to  be  ex- 
cused from  this  duty.  He  must  have  known  Mr. 
Webster  less,  and  loved  him  less,  than  your  honors 


DEATH  OF  HE.  WEBSTER. 


223 


or  than  I have  known  and  loved  him,  who  can  quite 
yet,  — quite  yet,  — before  we  can  comprehend  that 
we  have  lost  liim  for  ever,  — before  the  first  paleness 
Avith  which  the  news  of  his  death  overspread  our 
cheeks  has  passed  away, — before  we  have  been  down 
to  lay  him  in  the  Pilgrim  soil  he  loved  so  well,  till 
the  heavens  be  no  more,  — he  must  have  known  and 
loved  him  less  than  we  have  done,  who  can  come 
here  quite  yet,  to  recount  the  series  of  his  service,  to 
display  with  psychological  exactness  the  traits  of  his 
nature  and  mind,  to  ponder  and  speculate  on  the 
secrets  — on  the  marvellous  secrets  — and  source  of 
that  vast  power,  which  we  shall  see  no  more  in 
action,  nor  aught  in  any  degree  resembling  it.  among 
men.  These  first  moments  should  be  given  to  grief. 
It  may  employ,  it  may  promote  a calmer  mood,  to 
construct  a more  elaborate  and  less  unworthy  me- 
morial. 

For  the  purposes  of  this  moment  and  place,  indeed, 
no  more  is  needed.  What  is  there  for  this  Court  or 
for  this  Bar  to  learn  from  me,  here  and  now,  of  him  ? 
The  year  and  the  day  of  his  birth ; that  birthplace 
on  the  frontier,  yet  bleak  and  waste  ; the  well,  of 
which  his  childhood  drank,  dug  by  that  father  of  whom 
he  has  said,  “ that  through  the  fire  and  blood  of  seven 
years  of  revolutionary  war  he  shrank  from  no  danger, 
no  toil,  no  sacrifice,  to  serve  his  country,  and  to  raise 
his  children  to  a condition  better  than  his  own  ; ” the 
elm-tree  that  father  planted,  fallen  now,  as  father 
and  son  have  fallen ; that  training  of  the  giant  in- 
fancy on  catechism  and  Bible,  and  Watts’s  version  of 
the  Psalms,  and  the  traditions  of  Plymouth,  and  Fort 
William  Henry,  and  the  Revolution,  and  the  age  of 


224 


REMARKS  ON  TEE 


Washington  and  Franklin,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mer- 
rimack, flowing  sometimes  in  flood  and  anger,  from 
his  secret  springs  in  the  crystal  hills  ; the  two  dis- 
trict schoolmasters.  Chase  and  Tappan ; the  village 
library  ; the  dawning  of  the  love  and  ambition  of 
letters  ; the  few  months  at  Exeter  and  Boscawen ; 
the  life  of  college  ; the  probationary  season  of  school- 
teaching ; the  clerkship  in  the  Fryeburg  Registry  of 
Deeds ; his  admission  to  the  bar,  presided  over  by 
judges  like  Smith,  ilhistrated  by  practisers  such  as 
Mason,  where,  by  the  studies,  in  the  contentions  of 
nine  years,  he  laid  the  foundation  of  the  professional 
mind  ; his  irresistible  attraction  to  public  life ; the 
oration  on  commerce  ; the  Rockingham  resolutions  ; 
his  first  term  of  four  years’  service  in  Congress,  when, 
by  one  bound,  he  sprang  to  his  place  by  the  side  of 
the  foremost  of  the  rising  American  statesmen ; his 
removal  to  this  State ; and  then  the  double  and  par- 
allel current  in  which  his  life,  studies,  thoughts, 
cares,  have  since  flowed,  bearing  him  to  the  leader- 
ship of  the  Bar  by  universal  acclaim,  bearing  him  to 
the  leadership  of  public  life,  — last  of  that  surpassing 
triumvirate,  shall  we  say  the  greatest,  the  most 
widely  known  and  admired  ? — all  these  things,  to 
their  minutest  details,  are  known  and  rehearsed 
familiarly.  Happier  than  the  younger  Pliny,  happier 
than  Cicero,  he  has  found  his  historian,  unsolicited, 
in  his  lifetime,  and  his  countrymen  have  him  all  by 
heart ! 

There  is,  then,  nothing  to  tell  you,  — nothing  to 
bring  to  mind.  And  then,  if  I may  borrow  the  lan- 
guage of  one  of  his  historians  and  friends,  — one  of 
those  through  whose  beautiful  pathos  the  common 


DEATH  OF  ME.  WEBSTER. 


225 


sorrow  uttered  itself  yesterday,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  — 
“ I dare  not  come  here  and  dismiss  in  a few  summary 
paragraphs  the  character  of  one  who  has  filled  such  a 
space  in  the  history,  one  who  holds  such  a place  in 
the  heart,  of  his  country.  It  would  be  a disrespect- 
ful familiarity  to  a man  of  his  lofty  spirit,  his  great 
soul,  his  rich  endowments,  his  long  and  honorable 
life,  to  endeavor  thus  to  weigh  and  estimate  them,” 
— a half-hour  of  words,  a handful  of  earth,  for  fifty 
years  of  great  deeds,  on  high  places  ! 

But,  although  the  time  does  not  require  any  thing 
elaborated  and  adequate,  — forbids  it,  rather,  — some 
broken  sentences  of  veneration  and  love  may  be  in- 
dulged to  the  sorrow  which  oppresses  us. 

There  presents  itself,  on  the  first  and  to  any  ob- 
servation of  Mr.  Webster’s  life  and  character,  a two- 
fold eminence,  — eminence  of  the  very  highest  rank, — 
in  a twofold  field  of  intellectual  and  public  display, — 
the  profession  of  the  law  and  the  profession  of  states- 
manship, — of  which  it  woidd  not  be  easy  to  recall 
any  parallel  in  the  biographj^  of  illustrious  men. 

Without  seeking  for  parallels,  and  without  asserting 
that  they  do  not  exist,  consider  that  he  was,  by  uni- 
versal designation,  the  leader  of  the  general  American 
Bar ; and  that  he  was,  also,  by  an  equally  universal 
designation,  foremost  of  her  statesmen  living  at  his 
death  ; inferior  to  not  one  who  has  lived  and  acted  since 
the  opening  of  his  own  public  life.  Look  at  these 
aspects  of  his  greatness  separately,  and  from  opposite 
sides  of  the  surpassing  elevation.  Consider  that  his 
single  career  at  the  bar  may  seem  to  have  been  enough 
to  employ  the  largest  faculties,  without  repose,  for  a 
lifetime ; and  that,  if  then  and  thus  the  “ infinitus 

15 


226 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


forensium  rerum  labor  ” should  have  conducted  him  to 
a mere  professional  reward,  — a bench  of  chancery  or 
law,  the  crown  of  the  first  of  advocates,  jurisperitorum 
eloquentissimujs^  — to  the  pure  and  mere  honors  of  a 
great  magistrate,  — that  that  would  be  as  much  as 
is  allotted  to  the  ablest  in  the  distribution  of  fame. 
Even  that  half,  if  I may  say  so,  of  his  illustrious 
reputation,  — hoAv  long  the  labor  to  win  it,  how 
worthy  of  all  that  labor ! He  was  bred  first  in  the 
severest  school  of  the  common  law,  in  which  its  doc- 
trines were  expounded  by  Smith,  and  its  administra- 
tion shaped  and  directed  by  Mason,  and  its  foundation 
principles,  its  historical  sources  and  illustrations,  its 
connection  with  the  parallel  series  of  statutory  enact- 
ments, its  modes  of  reasoning,  and  the  evidence  of 
its  truths,  he  grasped  easily  and  completely ; and  I 
have  myself  heard  him  say,  that  for  many  years  while 
still  at  the  bar,  he  tried  more  causes,  and  argued  more 
questions  of  fact  to  the  jury  than  perhaps  any  other 
member  of  the  profession  anywhere.  I have  heard 
from  others  how,  even  then,  he  exemplified  the  same 
direct,  clear,  and  forcible  exhibition  of  proofs,  and 
the  reasonings  appropriate  to  proofs,  as  well  as  the 
same  marvellous  power  of  discerning  instantly  Avhat 
we  call  the  decisive  points  of  the  cause  in  law  and 
fact,  by  which  he  was  later  more  widely  celebrated. 
This  was  the  first  epoch  in  his  professional  training. 

With  the  commencement  of  his  public  life,  or  with 
his  later  removal  to  this  State,  began  the  second 
epoch  of  his  professional  training,  conducting  him 
through  the  gradation  of  the  national  tribunals  to  the 
study  and  practice  of  the  more  flexible,  elegant,  and 
scientific  jurisprudence  of  commerce  and  of  chancery, 


DEATH  OF  ME.  WEBSTER, 


227 


and  to  the  grander  and  less  fettered  investigations  of 
international,  prize,  and  constitutional  law,  and  giving 
him  to  breathe  the  air  of  a more  famous  forum,  in  a 
more  public  presence,  with  more  variety  of  competi- 
tion, although  he  never  met  abler  men,  as  I have 
heard  him  say,  than  some  of  those  who  initiated  him 
in  the  rugged  discipline  of  the  Courts  of  New  Hamp- 
shire ; and  thus,  at  length,  by  these  studies,  these 
labors,  this  contention,  continued  without  repose,  he 
came,  now  many  years  ago,  to  stand  omnium  assensu 
at  the  summit  of  the  American  Bar. 

It  is  common  and  it  is  easy,  in  the  case  of  all  in 
such  position,  to  point  out  other  lawyers,  here  and 
there,  as  possessing  some  special  qualification  or  at- 
tainment more  remarkably,  perhaps,  because  more 
exclusively,  — to  say  of  one  that  he  has  more  cases 
in  his  recollection  at  any  given  moment,  or  that  he 
was  earlier  grounded  in  equity,  or  has  gathered  more 
black  letter  or  civil  law,  or  knowledge  of  Spanish 
or  of  Western  titles,  — and  these  comparisons  were 
sometimes  made  with  him.  But  when  you  sought  a 
counsel  of  the  first  rate  for  the  great  cause,  who 
would  most  surely  discern  and  most  powerfully  ex- 
pound the  exact  law,  required  by  the  controversy,  in 
season  for  use ; who  could  most  skilfully  encounter 
the  opposing  law ; under  whose  powers  of  analysis, 
persuasion,  and  display,  the  asserted  right  would  as- 
sume the  most  probable  aspect  before  the  iutelligence 
of  the  judge ; who,  if  the  inquiry  became  blended 
with  or  resolved  into  facts,  could  most  completely 
develop  and  most  irresistibly  expose  them  ; one  “ the 
law’s  whole  thunder  born  to  wield,”  — when  you 
sought  such  a counsel,  and  could  have  the  choice,  I 


228 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


think  the  universal  profession  would  have  turned  to 
him.  And  this  would  be  so  in  nearly  every  descrip- 
tion of  cause,  in  any  department.  Some  able  men 
wield  civil  inquiries  with  a peculiar  ability ; some 
criminal.  How  lucidly  and  how  deeply  he  elucidated 
a question  of  property,  you  all  know.  But  then, 
with  what  address,  feeling,  pathos,  and  prudence  he 
defended,  with  what  dignity  and  crushing  power, 
accumtorio  spiritu,  he  prosecuted  the  accused  of 
crime,  whom  he  believed  to  have  been  guilty,  few 
have  seen ; but  none  who  have  seen  can  ever  for- 
get it. 

Some  scenes  there  are,  some  Alpine  eminences 
rising  above  the  high  table-land  of  such  a professional 
life,  to  which,  in  the  briefest  tribute,  we  should  love 
to  follow  him.  We  recall  that  day,  for  an  instance, 
when  he  first  announced,  with  decisive  display,  what 
manner  of  man  he  was,  to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
nation.  It  was  in  1818,  and  it  was  in  the  argument 
of  the  case  of  Dartmouth  College.  William  Pinkney 
was  recruiting  his  great  faculties,  and  replenishing 
that  reservoir  of  professional  and  elegant  acquisition, 
in  Europe.  Samuel  Dexter,  “ the  honorable  man,  and 
the  counsellor,  and  the  eloquent  orator,”  was  in  his 
grave.  The  boundless  old-school  learning  of  Luther 
Martin ; the  silver  voice  and  infinite  analytical  inge- 
nuity and  resources  of  Jones ; the  fervid  genius  of 
Emmett  pouring  itself  along  immenso  ore;  the  ripe 
and  beautiful  culture  of  Wirt  and  Hopkinson,  — the 
steel  point,  unseen,  not  unfelt,  beneath  the  foliage ; 
Harper  himself,  statesman  as  well  as  lawyer,  — tliese, 
and  such  as  these,  were  left  of  that  noble  bar.  That 
day  Mr.  Webster  opened  the  cause  of  Dartmouth 


DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER. 


229 


College  to  a tribunal  unsurpassed  on  earth  in  all  that 
gives  illustration  to  a bench  of  law,  not  one  of  whom 
any  longer  survives. 

One  would  love  to  linger  on  the  scene,  when,  after 
a masterly  argument  of  the  law,  carrying,  as  we  may 
now  know,  conviction  to  the  general  mind  of  the 
court,  and  vindicating  and  settling  for  his  lifetime 
his  place  in  that  forum,  he  paused  to  enter,  with  an 
altered  feeling,  tone,  and  manner,  with  these  words, 
on  his  peroration:  “I  have  brought  my  Alma  Mater 
to  this  presence,  that,  if  she  must  fall,  she  may  fall 
in  her  robes  and  with  dignity ; ” and  then  broke  forth 
in  that  strain  of  sublime  and  pathetic  eloquence,  of 
which  we  know  not  much  more  than  that,  in  its  prog- 
ress, Marshall,  — the  intellectual,  the  self-controlled, 
the  unemotional,  — announced,  visibly,  the  presence 
of  the  unaccustomed  enchantment. 

Other  forensic  triumphs  crowd  on  us,  in  other  com- 
petition, with  other  issues.  But  I must  commit  them 
to  the  historian  of  constitutional  jurisprudence. 

And  now,  if  this  transcendent  professional  repu- 
tation were  all  of  Mr.  Webster,  it  might  be  prac- 
ticable, though  not  easy,  to  find  its  parallel  elsewhere, 
in  our  own,  or  in  European  or  classical  biography. 

But,  when  you  consider  that,  side  by  side  with  this, 
there  was  growing  up  that  other  reputation,  — that 
of  the  first  American  statesman  ; that,  for  thirty-three 
vears,  and  those  embracing  his  most  Herculean  works 
at  the  bar,  he  was  engaged  as  a member  of  either 
House,  or  in  the  highest  of  the  executive  depart- 
ments, in  the  conduct  of  the  largest  national  alfairs, 
in  the  treatment  of  the  largest  national  questions,  in 
debate  with  the  highest  abilities  of  American  public 


280 


KEMARKS  ON  THE 


life,  conducting  diplomatic  intercourse  in  delicate  re- 
lations with  all  manner  of  foreign  powers,  investigat- 
ing whole  classes  of  truths,  totally  unlike  the  truths 
of  the  law,  and  resting  on  principles  totally  distinct, 
— and  that  here,  too,  he  was  wise,  safe,  controlling, 
trusted,  the  foremost  man  ; that  Europe  had  come  to 
see  in  his  life  a guaranty  for  justice,  for  peace,  for  the 
best  hopes  of  civilization,  and  America  to  feel  surer 
of  her  glory  and  her  safety  as  his  great  arm  enfolded 
her,  — you  see  how  rare,  how  solitary,  almost,  was 
the  actual  greatness ! Who,  anywhere,  has  won,  as 
he  had,  the  double  fame,  and  worn  the  double  wreath 
of  Murray  and  Chatham,  of  Dunning  and  Fox,  of 
Erskine  and  Pitt,  of  William  Pinkney  and  Rufus 
King,  in  one  blended  and  transcendent  superiority? 

I cannot  attempt  to  grasp  and  sum  up  the  aggre- 
gate of  the  service  of  his  public  life  at  such  a moment 
as  this ; and  it  is  needless.  That  life  comprised  a 
term  of  more  than  thirty-three  years.  It  produced  a 
body  of  performance,  of  which  I may  say,  generally, 
it  was  all  which  the  first  abilities  of  the  country  and 
time,  employed  with  unexampled  toil,  stimulated  by 
the  noblest  patriotism,  in  the  highest  places  of  the 
State,  in  the  fear  of  God,  in  the  presence  of  nations, 
could  possibly  compass. 

He  came  into  Congress  after  the  war  of  1812  had 
begun,  and  though  probabl}''  deeming  it  unnecessary, 
according  to  the  highest  standards  of  public  necessity, 
in  his  private  character,  and  objecting,  in  his  public 
character,  to  some  of  the  details  of  the  policy  by  which 
it  was  prosecuted,  and  standing  by  party  ties  in  general 
opposition  to  the  administration,, he  never  breathed  a 
sentiment  calculated  to  depress  the  tone  of  the  pub- 


DEATH  OE  MR.  WEBSTER. 


231 


lie  mind,  to  aid  or  comfort  the  enemy,  to  check  or 
chill  the  stirrings  of  that  new,  passionate,  unquench  ■ 
able  spirit  of  nationality,  which  then  was  revealed, 
or  kindled  to  burn  till  we  go  down  to  the  tombs  of 
States. 

With  the  peace  of  1815  his  more  cherished  public 
labors  began ; and  thenceforward  he  devoted  him- 
self — the  ardor  of  his  civil  youth,  the  energies  of 
his  maturest  manhood,  the  autumnal  wisdom  of  the 
ripened  year  — to  the  offices  of  legislation  and  diplo- 
macy ; of  preserving  the  peace,  keeping  the  honor, 
establishing  the  boundaries,  and  vindicating  the  neu- 
tral rights  of  his  country  ; restoring  a sound  currency, 
and  laying  its  foundation  sure  and  deep  ; in  uphold- 
ing public  credit;  in  promoting  foreign  commerce 
and  domestic  industry ; in  developing  our  uncounted 
material  resources,  — giving  the  lake  and  the  river 
to  trade,  — and  vindicating  and  interpreting  the  con- 
stitution and  the  law.  On  all  these  subjects,  — on  all 
measures  practically  in  any  degree  affecting  them,  — 
he  has  inscribed  his  opinions  and  left  the  traces  of 
his  hand.  Everywhere  the  philosophical  and  patriot 
statesman  and  thinker  will  find  that  he  has  been  be- 
fore him,  lighting  the  way,  sounding  the  abyss.  His 
weighty  language,  his  sagacious  warnings,  his  great 
maxims  of  empire,  will  be  raised  to  view,  and  live  to 
be  deciphered  when  the  final  catastrophe  shall  lift  the 
granite  foundation  in  fragments  from  its  bed. 

In  this  connection  I cannot  but  remark  to  how 
extraordinary  an  extent  had  Mr.  Webster,  by  his  acts, 
words,  thoughts,  or  the  events  of  his  life,  associated 
himself  for  ever  in  the  memory  of  all  of  us  with  every 
historical  incident,  or,  at  least,  with  every  historical 


232 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


epoch,  with  every  policy,  with  every  glory,  with  every 
great  name  and  fundamental  institution,  and  grand 
or  beautiful  image,  which  are  peculiarly  and  properly 
American.  Look  backwards  to  the  planting  of  Ply- 
mouth and  Jamestown  ; to  the  various  scenes  of  colo- 
nial life  in  peace  and  war ; to  the  opening  and  march 
and  close  of  the  revolutionary  drama ; to  the  age  of 
the  constitution ; to  Washington  and  Franklin  and 
Adams  and  Jefferson ; to  the  whole  train  of  causes, 
from  the  Reformation  downwards,  which  prepared  us 
to  be  republicans ; to  that  other  train  of  causes  which 
led  us  to  be  unionists,  — look  round  on  field,  work- 
shop, and  deck,  and  hear  the  music  of  labor  rewarded, 
fed,  and  protected ; look  on  the  bright  sisterhood  of 
the  States,  each  singing  as  a seraph  in  her  motion, 
yet  blending  in  a common  harmony,  — and  there  is 
nothing  which  does  not  bring  him  by  some  tie  to  the 
memory  of  America.  We  seem  to  see  his  form  and 
hear  his  deep,  grave  speech  everywhere.  By  some 
felicity  of  his  personal  life  ; by  some  wise,  deep,  or 
beautiful  word,  spoken  or  written ; by  some  service 
of  his  own,  or  some  commemoration  of  the  services  of 
others,  it  has  come  to  pass  that  “ our  granite  hills, 
our  inland  seas,  and  prairies,  and  fresh,  unbounded, 
magnificent  wilderness,”  our  encircling  ocean,  the 
Rock  of  the  Pilgrims,  our  new-born  sister  of  the  Pa- 
cific, our  popular  assemblies,  our  free  schools,  all  our 
cherished  doctrines  of  education,  and  of  the  influence 
of  religion,  and  material  policy,  and  the  law,  and  the 
constitution,  give  us  back  his  name.  What  American 
landscape  will  you  look  on,  what  subject  of  American 
interest  will  you  study,  what  source  of  hope  or  of 
anxiety,  as  an  American,  will  you  acknowledge,  that 
does  not  recall  him  ! 


DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER. 


233 


I shall  not  venture,  in  this  rapid  and  general  recol- 
lection of  Mr.  Webster,  to  attempt  to  analyze  that 
intellectual  power  which  all  admit  to  have  been  so 
extraordinary,  or  to  compare  or  contrast  it  with  the 
mental  greatness  of  others,  in  variety  or  degree,  of 
the  living  or  the  dead ; or  even  to  attempt  to  appre- 
ciate, exactly,  and  in  reference  to  canons  of  art,  his 
single  attribute  of  eloquence.  Consider,  however, 
the  remarkable  phenomenon  of  excellence  in  three 
unkiiidred,  one  might  have  thought,  incompatible 
forms  of  public  speech,  — that  of  the  forum,  with  its 
double  audience  of  bench  and  jury,  of  the  halls  of 
legislation,  and  of  the  most  thronged  and  tumultuous 
assemblies  of  the  people. 

Consider,  further,  that  this  multiform  eloquence, 
exactly  as  his  words  fell,  became  at  once  so  much 
accession  to  permanent  literature,  in  the  strictest 
sense,  solid,  attractive,  and  rich,  and  ask  how  often 
in  the  history  of  public  life  such  a thing  has  been 
exemplified.  Recall  what  pervaded  all  these  forms 
of  display,  and  every  effort  in  every  form,  — that 
union  of  naked  intellect,  in  its  largest  measure,  which 
penetrates  to  the  exact  truth  of  the  matter  in  hand, 
by  intuition  or  by  inference,  and  discerns  every  thing 
which  may  make  it  intelligible,  probable,  or  credible 
to  another,  with  an  emotional  and  moral  nature  pro- 
found, passionate,  and  ready  to  kindle,  and  with  an 
imagination  enough  to  supply  a hundred-fold  more  of 
illustration  and  aggrandizement  than  his  taste  suffered 
him  to  accept ; that  union  of  greatness  of  soul  with 
depth  of  heart,  which  made  his  speaking  almost  more 
an  exhibition  of  character  than  of  mere  genius ; the 
style,  not  merely  pure,  clear  Saxon,  but  so  constructed, 


234 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


SO  numerous  as  far  as  becomes  prose,  so  forcible,  so 
abounding  in  unlabored  felicities ; the  words  so  choice ; 
the  epithet  so  pictured ; the  matter  absolute  truth,  or 
the  most  exact  and  specious  resemblance  the  human 
wit  can  devise ; the  treatment  of  the  subject,  if  you 
have  regard  to  the  kind  of  truth  he  had  to  handle,  — 
political,  ethical,  legal,  — as  deep,  as  complete  as 
Paley’s,  or  Locke’s,  or  Butler’s,  or  Alexander  Ham- 
ilton's, of  their  subjects ; yet  that  depth  and  that 
completeness  of  sense,  made  transparent  as  through 
crystal  waters,  all  embodied  in  harmonious  or  well- 
composed  periods,  raised  on  winged  language,  vivified, 
fused,  and  poured  along  in  a tide  of  emotion,  fervid, 
and  incapable  to  be  withstood ; recall  the  form,  the 
eye,  the  brow,  the  tone  of  voice,  the  presence  of  the 
intellectual  king  of  men,  — recall  him  thus,  and,  in 
the  language  of  Mr.  Justice  Story,  commemorating 
Samuel  Dexter,  we  maj"  well  “ rejoice  that  we  have 
lived  in  the  same  age,  that  we  have  listened  to  his 
eloquence,  and  been  instructed  by  his  wisdom.” 

I cannot  leave  the  subject  of  his  eloquence  without 
returning  to  a thought  I have  advanced  already.  All 
that  he  has  left,  or  the  larger  portion  of  all,  is  the 
record  of  spoken  words.  His  works,  as  already  col- 
lected, extend  to  many  volumes,  — a library  of  reason 
and  eloquence,  as  Gibbon  has  said  of  Cicero’s, — but 
they  are  volumes  of  speeches  only,  or  mainly  ; and 
yet  who  does  not  rank  him  as  a great  American  au- 
thor ? an  author  as  truly  expounding,  and  as  charac- 
teristically exemplifying,  in  a pure,  genuine,  and 
harmonious  English  stjde,  the  mind,  thought,  point  of 
view  of  objects,  and  essential  nationality  of  his  coun- 
try as  any  other  of  our  authors,  professedly  so  de- 


DEATH  OF  ME.  WEBSTER. 


235 


nominated?  Against  the  maxim  of  Mr.  Fox,  his 
speeches  read  well,  and  yet  were  good  speeches  — 
great  speeches  — in  the  delivery.  For  so  grave  were 
they,  so  thoughtful  and  true,  so  much  the  eloquence 
of  reason  at  last,  so  strikingly  always  they  contrived 
to  link  the  immediate  topic  with  other  and  broader 
principles,  ascending  easily  to  widest  generalizations, 
so  happy  was  the  reconciliation  of  the  qualities  which 
engage  the  attention  of  hearers,  yet  reward  the  pe- 
rusal of  students,  so  critically  did  they  keep  the  right 
side  of  the  line  which  parts  eloquence  from  rhetoric, 
and  so  far  do  they  rise  above  the  penury  of  mere  de- 
bate, that  the  general  reason  of  the  country  has  en- 
shrined them  at  once,  and  for  ever,  among  our  classics. 

It  is  a common  belief  that  Mr.  Webster  was  a 
various  reader ; and  I think  it  is  true,  even  to  a 
greater  degree  than  has  been  believed.  In  his  pro- 
fession of  politics,  nothing,  I think,  worthy  of  atten- 
tion had  escaped  him ; nothing  of  the  ancient  or 
modern  prudence  ; nothing  which  Greek  or  Roman 
or  European  speculation  in  that  walk  had  explored, 
or  Greek  or  Roman  or  European  or  universal  history 
or  public  biography  exemplified.  I shall  not  soon 
forget  with  what  admiration  he  spake,  at  an  inter- 
view to  which  he  admitted  me,  while  in  the  Law 
School  at  Cambridge,  of  the  politics  and  ethics  of 
Aristotle,  and  of  the  mighty  mind  which,  as  he  said, 
seemed  to  have  “ thought  through  ” so  many  of  the 
great  problems  which  form  the  discipline  of  social 
man.  American  history  and  American  political  liter- 
atiu’e  he  had  by  heart,  — the  long  series  of  influences 
which  trained  us  for  representative  and  free  govern- 
ment ; that  other  series  of  influences  which  moulded 


236 


REMARKS  ON  THE 


US  into  a united  government ; the  colonial  era ; the 
age  of  controversy  before  the  revolution ; every  scene 
and  every  person  in  that  great  tragic  action  ; every 
question  which  has  successively  engaged  our  politics, 
and  every  name  which  has  figured  in  them,  — the 
whole  stream  of  our  time  was  open,  clear,  and  pres- 
ent ever  to  his  eye. 

Beyond  his  profession  of  politics,  so  to  call  it,  he 
had  been  a diligent  aud  choice  reader,  as  his  extraor- 
dinary style  in  part  reveals  ; and  I think  the  love  of 
reading  would  have  gone  with  him  to  a later  and 
liper  age,  if  to  such  an  age  it  had  been  the  will  of 
God  to  preserve  him.  This  is  no  place  or  time  to 
ap23reciate  this  branch  of  his  acquisitions  ; but  there 
is  an  interest  inexpressible  in  knowing  who  were  any 
of  the  chosen  from  among  the  great  dead  in  the  li- 
brary of  such  a man.  Others  may  correct  me,  but  I 
should  say  of  that  interior  and  narrower  circle  were 
Cicero,  Virgil,  Shakspeare,  — whom  he  knew  famil- 
iarly as  the  constitution,  — Bacon,  Milton,  Burke, 
Johnson,  — to  whom  I hope  it  is  not  pedantic  nor 
fanciful  to  say,  I often  thought  his  nature  presented 
some  resemblance  ; the  same  abundance  of  the  gen- 
eral propositions  required  for  explaining  a difficulty 
and  refuting  a sophism  co2)iously  and  promptly  occur- 
ring to  him  ; the  same  kindness  of  heart  and  wealth 
of  sensibility,  under  a manner,  of  course,  more  cour- 
teous and  gracious,  yet  more  sovereign  ; the  same  suffi- 
cient, yet  not  predominant,  imagination,  stooping  ever 
to  truth,  and  giving  affluence,  vivacity,  and  attraction 
to  a powerful,  correct,  and  weighty  style  of  prose. 

I cannot  leave  this  life  and  character  without  se- 
lecting and  dwelling  a moment  on  one  or  two  of  his 


DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER. 


237 


tiaits,  or  virtues,  or  felicities,  a little  longer.  There 
is  a collective  impression  made  by  the  whole  of  an 
eminent  person’s  life,  beyond  and  other  than,  and 
apart  from,  that  which  the  mere  general  biographer 
would  afford  the  means  of  explaining.  There  is  an 
influence  of  a great  man  derived,  from  things  inde- 
scribable, almost,  or  incapable  of  enumeration,  or 
singly  insufficient  to  account  for  it,  but  through  which 
his  spirit  transpires,  and  his  individuality  goes  forth 
on  the  contemporary  generation.  And  thus,  I should 
say,  one  grand  tendency  of  his  life  and  character  was 
to  elevate  the  whole  tone  of  the  public  mind.  He 
did  this,  indeed,  not  merely  by  example.  He  did  it 
by  dealing,  as  he  thought,  truly  and  in  manly  fashion 
with  that  public  mind.  He  evinced  his  love  of  the 
people,  not  so  much  by  honeyed  phrases  as  by  good 
counsels  and  useful  service,  vera  pro  gratis.  He 
showed  how  he  appreciated  them  by  submitting  sound 
arguments  to  their  understandings,  and  right  motives 
to  their  free  will.  He  came  before  them,  less  with 
flattery  than  with  instrnction  ; less  with  a vocabulary 
larded  with  the  words  humanity  and  philanthropy, 
and  progress  and  brotherhood,  than  with  a scheme  of 
politics,  an  educational,  social,  and  governmental 
system,  which  would  have  made  them  prosperous, 
happy,  and  great. 

What  the  greatest  of  the  Greek  historians  said  of 
Pericles,  we  all  feel  might  be  said  of  him  : “ He  did 
not  so  much  follow  as  lead  the  people,  because  he 
framed  not  his  words  to  please  them,  like  one  who  is 
gaining  power  by  unworthy  means,  but  was  able  and 
dared,  on  the  strength  of  his  high  character,  even  to 
brave  their  anger  by  contradicting  their  will.” 


238 


EEMARKS  ON  THE 


I should  indicate  it  as  another  influence  of  his  life, 
acts,  and  opinions,  that  it  was,  in  an  extraordinary 
degree,  uniformly  and  liberally  conservative.  He 
saw  with  vision  as  of  a prophet,  that  if  our  system  of 
united  government  can  be  maintained  till  a nation- 
ality shall  be  generated,  of  due  intensity  and  due 
comprehension,  a glory  indeed  millennial,  a progress 
Avithout  end,  a triumph  of  humanity  hitherto  unseen, 
were  ours ; and,  therefore,  he  addressed  himself  to 
maintain  that  united  government. 

Standing  on  the  Rock  of  Plymouth,  he  bade  dis- 
tant generations  hail,  and  saw  them  rising,  “ demand- 
ing life,  impatient  for  the  skies,”  from  what  then 
were  “ fresh,  unbounded,  magnificent  wildernesses  ; ” 
from  the  shore  of  the  great,  tranquil  sea,  not  yet  be- 
come ours.  But  observe  to  what  he  welcomes  them  ; 
by  what  he  would  bless  them.  “ It  is  to  good  gov- 
ernment.” It  is  to  “ treasures  of  science  and  delights 
of  learning.”  It  is  to  the  “ sweets  of  domestic  life, 
the  immeasurable  good  of  rational  existence,  the  im- 
mortal hopes  of  Christianity,  the  light  of  everlasting 
truth.” 

It  will  be  happy,  if  the  Avisdom  and  temper  of  his 
administration  of  our  foreign  affairs  shall  preside  in 
the  time  which  is  at  hand.  Sobered,  instructed  by 
the  examples  and  warnings  of  all  the  past,  he  yet 
gathered  from  the  study  and  comparison  of  all  the 
eras  that  there  is  a silent  progress  of  the  race,  — 
without  pause,  without  haste,  without  return,  — to 
Avhich  the  counsellings  of  history  are  to  be  accommo- 
dated by  a wise  philosophy.  More  than,  or  as  much 
as  that  of  any  of  our  public  characters,  his  states- 
manship was  one  which  recognized  a Europe,  an  old 


DEATH  or  ME.  WEBSTEE. 


239 


world,  but  yet  grasped  the  capital  idea  of  the  Amer- 
ican position,  and  deduced  from  it  the  whole  fashion 
and  color  of  its  policy ; which  discerned  that  we  are 
to  play  a high  part  in  human  affairs,  but  discerned, 
also,  what  part  it  is,  — peculiar,  distant,  distinct,  and 
grand  as  our  hemisphere  ; an  influence,  not  a con- 
tact, — the  stage,  the  drama,  the  catastrophe,  all  but 
the  audience,  all  our  own,  — and  if  ever  he  felt  him- 
self at  a loss,  he  consulted,  reverently,  the  genius  of 
Washington. 

In  bringing  these  memories  to  a conclusion,  — for 
I omit  many  things  because  I dare  not  trust  myself 
to  speak  of  them,  — I shall  not  be  misunderstood,  or 
give  offence,  if  I hope  that  one  other  trait  in  his  pub- 
lic character,  one  doctrine,  rather,  of  his  political 
creed,  may  be  remembered  and  be  appreciated.  It 
is  one  of  the  two  fundamental  precepts  in  which 
Plato,  as  expounded  by  the  great  master  of  Latin 
eloquence  and  reason  and  morals,  comprehends  the 
duty  of  those  who  share  in  the  conduct  of  the  state,  — 
qucecunque  agunt^  totem  corpus  reipuhlicce  curent^ 
nedum  partem  aliquam  tuentur,  reliquas  deserant ; " 
that  they  comprise  in  their  care  the  whole  body  of 
the  Republic,  nor  keep  one  part  and  desert  another. 
He  gives  the  reason,  — one  reason,  — of  the  precept, 
“ qui  autem  parti  civium  consulunt,  partem  negligunt, 
rem  perniciosissimam  in  civitatem  induoimt^  seditionem 
atque  discordiam."  The  patriotism  which  embraces 
less  than  the  whole  induces  sedition  and  discord,  the 
last  evil  of  the  State. 

How  profoundly  he  had  comprehended  this  truth  ; 
with  what  persistency,  with  what  passion,  from  the 
first  hour  he  became  a public  man  to  the  last  beat  of 
the  great  heart,  he  cherished  it ; how  little  he  ac- 


240 


DEATH  or  MR.  WEBSTER. 


counted  the  good,  the  praise,  the  blame  of  this  local- 
ity or  that,  in  comparison  of  the  larger  good  and  the 
general  and  thoughtful  approval  of  his  own,  and  our, 
whole  America,  — she  this  da}^  feels  and  announces. 
Wheresoever  a drop  of  her  blood  flows  in  the  veins 
of  men,  this  trait  is  felt  and  appreciated.  The  hunter 
beyond  Superior ; the  fisherman  on  the  deck  of  the 
nigh  night-foundered  skiff;  the  sailor  on  the  utter- 
most sea,  — will  feel,  as  he  hears  these  tidings,  that 
the  protection  of  a sleepless,  all-embracing,  parental 
care  is  withdrawn  from  him  for  a space,  and  that  his 
pathway  henceforward  is  more  solitary  and  less  safe 
than  before. 

But  I cannot  pursue  these  thoughts.  Among  the 
eulogists  who  have  just  uttered  the  eloquent  sorrow 
of  England  at  the  death  of  the  great  Duke,  one  has 
employed  an  image  and  an  idea  which  I venture  to 
modify  and  appropriate. 

“ The  Northmen’s  image  of  death  is  finer  than  that 
of  other  climes  ; no  skeleton,  but  a gigantic  figure 
that  envelops  men  within  the  massive  folds  of  its 
dark  garment.”  Webster  seems  so  enshrouded  from 
us,  as  the  last  of  the  mighty  three,  themselves  follow- 
ing a mighty  series,  — the  greatest  closing  the  pro- 
cession. The  robe  draws  round  him,  and  the  era  is 
past. 

Yet  how  much  there  is  which  that  all-ample  fold 
shall  not  hide,  — the  recorded  wisdom,  the  great  ex- 
ample, the  assured  immortality. 

They  speak  of  monuments ! 

“ Nothing  can  cover  his  high  fame  but  heaven  ; 

No  pyramids  set  off  his  memories 

But  the  eternal  substance  of  his  greatness ; 

To  which  I leave  him.” 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


241 


A DISCOURSE  COMMEMORATIVE  OF 
DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  FACULTY,  STUDENTS,  AND  ALUMNI 
OF  DARTMOUTH  COLLEGE,  JULY  2T,  1853. 


It  would  be  a strange  neglect  of  a beautiful  and  ap- 
proved custom  of  the  schools  of  learning,  and  of  one 
of  the  most  pious  and  appropriate  of  the  offices  of 
literature,  if  the  college  in  which  the  intellectual  life 
of  Daniel  Webster  began,  and  to  which  his  name  im- 
parts charm  and  illustration,  should  give  no  formal 
expression  to  her  grief  in  the  common  sorrow  ; if  she 
should  not  draw  near,  of  the  most  sad,  in  the  proces- 
sion of  the  bereaved,  to  the  tomb  at  the  sea,  nor  find, 
in  all  her  classic  shades,  one  affectionate  and  grateful 
leaf  to  set  in  the  garland  with  which  they  have  bound 
the  brow  of  her  child,  the  mightiest  departed.  Others 
mourn  and  praise  him  by  his  more  distant  and  more 
general  titles  to  fame  and  remembrance ; his  su- 
premacy of  intellect,  his  statesmanship  of  so  many 
years,  his  eloquence  of  reason  and  of  the  heart,  his 
love  of  country,  incorruptible,  conscientious,  and  rul- 
ing eveiy  hour  and  act ; that  greatness  combined  of 
genius,  of  character,  of  manner,  of  place,  of  achieve- 
ment, which  was  just  now  among  us,  and  is  not,  and 
yet  lives  still  and  evermore.  You  come,  his  cherish- 
ing mother,  to  own  a closer  tie,  to  indulge  an  emotion 

16 


242 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 


more  personal  and  more  fond,  — grief  and  exidtation 
contending  for  mastery,  as  in  the  bosom  of  the  deso- 
lated parent,  whose  tears  could  not  hinder  him  from 
exclaiming,  “ I would  not  exchange  my  dead  son  for 
any  living  one  of  Christendom.” 

Many  places  in  our  American  world  have  spoken 
his  eulogy.  To  all  places  the  service  was  befitting, 
for  “ his  renown,  is  it  not  of  the  treasures  of  the 
whole  country?”  To  some  it  belonged,  with  a strong 
local  propriety,  to  discharge  it.  In  the  lialls  of  Con- 
gress, where  the  majestic  form  seems  ever  to  stand, 
and  the  deep  tones  to  linger,  the  decorated  scene  of 
his  larger  labors  and  most  diffusive  glory ; in  the 
courts  of  law,  to  whose  gladsome  light  he  loved  to 
return,  — putting  on  again  the  robes  of  that  profes- 
sion ancient  as  magistracy,  noble  as  virtue,  necessary 
as  justice,  — in  which  he  found  the  beginning  of  his 
honors  ; in  Faneuil  Hall,  whose  air  breathes  and  burns 
of  him ; in  the  commercial  cities,  to  whose  pursuits 
his  diplomacy  secured  a peaceful  sea ; in  the  cities  of 
the  inland,  around  which  his  capacious  public  affec- 
tions, and  wise  discernment,  aimed  ever  to  develop 
the  uncounted  resources  of  that  other,  and  that 
larger,  and  that  newer  America ; in  the  pulpit,  whose 
place  among  the  higher  influences  which  exalt  a State, 
our  guide  in  life,  our  consolation  in  death,  he  appre- 
ciated profoundly,  and  vindicated  by  weightiest  argu- 
ment and  testimony,  of  whose  offices  it  is  among  the 
fittest  to  mark  and  point  the  moral  of  the  great  things 
of  the  world,  the  excellency  of  dignity,  and  tl)e  ex- 
cellency of  power  passing  away  as  the  pride  of  the 
wave,  — passing  from  our  eye  to  take  on  immortality, 
— in  these  places,  and  such  as  these,  there  seemed  a 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  AYEBSTER. 


243 


reason  beyond,  and  other,  than  the  universal  calamity, 
for  such  honors  of  the  grave.  But  if  so,  how  fit  a 
place  is  tliis  for  such  a service  ! We  are  among  the 
scenes  where  the  youth  of  Webster  awoke  first  and 
fully  to  the  life  of  the  mind.  We  stand,  as  it  were, 
at  the  sources  — physical,  social,  moral,  intellectual  — 
of  that  exceeding  greatness.  Some  now  here  saw  that 
youth : almost  it  was  yours,  Nilum  parvum  videre. 
Some,  one  of  his  instructors  certainly,  some  possibly 
of  his  classmates,  or  nearest  college  friends,  some  of 
the  books  he  read,  some  of  the  apartments  in  which 
he  studied,  are  here.  We  can  almost  call  up  from 
their  habitation  in  the  past,  or  in  tlie  fancy,  the  whole 
spiritual  circle  which  environed  that  time  of  his  life; 
the  opinions  he  had  embraced ; the  theories  of  mind, 
of  religion,  of  morals,  of  philosophy,  to  which  he  had 
surrendered  himself ; the  canons  of  taste  and  criti- 
cism which  he  had  accepted  ; the  great  authors  whom 
he  loved  best ; the  trophies  which  began  to  disturb 
his  sleep ; the  facts  of  history  which  he  had  learned, 
believed,  and  begun  to  interpret ; the  shapes  of  hope 
and  fear  in  which  imagination  began  to  bring  before 
him  the  good  and  evil  of  the  future.  Still  the  same 
outward  world  is  around  you,  and  above  you.  The 
sweet  and  solemn  flow  of  the  river,  gleaming  through 
interval  here  and  there  ; margins  and  samples  of  the 
same  old  woods,  but  thinned  and  retiring ; the  same 
range  of  green  hills  yonder,  tolerant  of  culture  to  the 
top,  but  shaded  then  by  primeval  forests,  on  whose 
crest  the  last  rays  of  sunset  lingered ; the  summit  of 
Ascutney  ; the  great  northern  light  that  never  sets  ; 
the  constellations  that  walk  around,  and  watch  the 
pole  ; the  same  nature,  undecayed,  unchanging,  is 


244 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


here.  Almost,  the  idolatries  of  the  old  paganism 
grow  intelligible.  “ Magnorum  fiuminum  capita  ven- 
eramur”  exclaims  Seneca.  “ Subita  et  ex  abrupto 
vasti  amnis  eruptio  aras  habet!"  We  stand  at  the 
fountain  of  a stream ; we  stand,  rather,  at  the  place 
where  a stream,  sudden,  and  from  hidden  springs, 
bursts  to  light ; and  whence  we  can  follow  it  along 
and  down,  as  we  might  our  own  Connecticut,  and 
trace  its  resplendent  pathway  to  the  sea ; and  we 
venerate,  and  would  almost  build  altars  here.  If  I 
may  adopt  the  lofty  language  of  one  of  the  admirers 
of  William  Pitt,  we  come  naturally  to  this  place,  as 
if  we  could  thus  recall  every  circumstance  of  splendid 
preparation  which  contributed  to  fit  the  great  man 
for  the  scene  of  his  glory.  We  come,  as  if  better 
here  than  elsewhere  “ we  could  watch,  fold  by  fold, 
the  bracing  on  of  his  Vulcanian  panoply,  and  observe 
with  pleased  anxiety  the  leading  forth  of  that  chariot 
which,  borne  on  irresistible  wheels,  and  drawn  by 
steeds  of  immortal  race,  is  to  crush  the  necks  of  the 
mighty,  and  sweep  away  the  serried  strength  of 
armies.” 

And,  therefore,  it  were  fitter  that  I should  ask  of 
you,  than  speak  to  you,  concerning  him.  Little,  in- 
deed, anywhere  can  be  added  now  to  that  wealth  of 
eulogy  that  has  been  heaped  upon  his  tomb.  Before 
he  died,  even,  renowned  in  two  hemispheres,  in  ours 
he  seemed  to  be  known  with  a universal  nearness  of 
knowledge.  He  walked  so  long  and  so  conspicuously 
before  the  general  eye  ; his  actions,  his  opinions,  on 
all  things  which  had  been  large  enough  to  agitate  the 
public  mind  for  the  last  thirty  years  and  more,  had  had 
importance  and  consequences  so  remarkable,  — anx- 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


245 


iously  waited  for,  passionately  canvassed,  not  adopted 
always  into  the  particular  measure,  or  deciding  the 
particular  vote  of  government  or  the  country,  yet 
sinking  deep  into  the  reason  of  the  people,  — a stream 
of  influence  whose  fruits  it  is  yet  too  soon  for  political 
philosophy  to  appreciate  completely ; an  impression 
of  his  extraordinary  intellectual  endowments,  and  of 
their  peculiar  superiority  in  that  most  imposing  and 
intelligible  of  all  forms  of  manifestation,  the  moving 
of  others’  minds  by  speech, — this  impression  had 
grown  so  universal  a^id  flxed,  and  it  had  kindled  curi- 
osity to  hear  him  and  read  him  so  wide  and  so  largely 
indulged ; his  individuality  altogether  was  so  abso- 
lute and  so  pronounced,  the  force  of  will  no  less  than 
the  power  of  genius  ; the  exact  type  and  fashion  of 
his  mind,  not  less  than  its  general  magnitude,  were 
so  distinctly  shown  through  his  musical  and  trans- 
parent style ; the  exterior  of  the  man,  the  grand 
mystery  of  brow  and  eye,  the  deep  tones,  the  solemn- 
ity, the  sovereignty,  as  of  those  who  would  build 
States,  where  every  power  and  every  grace  did  seem 
to  set  its  seal,  had  been  made,  by  personal  observa- 
tion, by  description,  by  the  exaggeration,  even,  of 
those  who  had  felt  the  spell,  by  art,  the  daguerrotype 
and  picture  and  statue,  so  familiar  to  the  American 
eye,  graven  on  the  memory  like  the  Washington  of 
Stuart ; the  narrative  of  the  mere  incidents  of  his 
life  had  been  so  often  told,  — by  some  so  authentic- 
ally and  with  such  skill,  — and  had  been  so  literally 
committed  to  heart,  that  when  he  died  there  seemed 
to  be  little  left  but  to  say  when  and  how  his  change 
came ; with  what  dignity,  with  what  possession  of 
himself,  with  what  loving  thought  for  others,  with 


246 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


what  gratitude  to  God,  uttered  with  unfaltering 
voice,  that  it  was  appointed  to  him  there  to  die ; to 
say  how  thus,  leaning  on  the  rod  and  staff  of  the 
promise,  he  took  his  way  into  the  great  darkness  un- 
dismayed, till  death  should  be  swallowed  up  of  life  ; 
and  then  to  relate  how  they  laid  him  in  that 
simple  grave,  and  turning  and  pausing,  and  joining 
their  voices  to  the  voices  of  the  sea,  bade  him  hail 
and  farewell. 

And  yet  I hardly  know  what  there  is  in  public 
biography,  what  there  is  in  literature,  to  be  com- 
pared, in  its  kind,  with  the  variety  and  beauty  and 
adequacy  of  the  series  of  discourses  through  which 
the  love  and  grief,  and  deliberate  and  reasoning  ad- 
miration of  America  for  this  great  man,  have  been 
uttered.  Little,  indeed,  there  would  be  for  me  to 
say,  if  I were  capable  of  the  light  ambition  of  pro- 
posing to  omit  all  which  others  have  said  on  this 
theme  before,  — little  to  add,  if  I sought  to  say  any- 
thing wholly  new. 

I have  thought,  — perhaps  the  place  where  I was 
to  speak  suggested  the  topic,  — that  before  we  ap- 
proach the  ultimate  and  historical  greatness  of  Mr. 
Webster  in  its  two  chief  departments,  and  attempt  to 
appreciate  by  what  qualities  of  genius  and  character 
and  what  succession  of  action  he  attained  it,  there 
might  be  an  interest  in  going  back  of  all  this,  so  to 
say,  and  pausing  a few  moments  upon  his  youth.  I 
include  in  that  designation  the  period  from  his  birth, 
on  the  eighteenth  day  of  January,  1782,  until  1805, 
when,  twenty-three  years  of  age,  he  declined  the 
clerkship  of  his  father’s  court,  and  dedicated  himself 
irrevocably  to  the  profession  of  the  law  and  the 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


247 


chances  of  a summons  to  less  or  more  of  public  life. 
These  twenty-three  years  we  shall  call  the  youth  of 
Webster.  Its  incidents  are  few  and  well  knoAvn,  and 
need  not  long  detain  us. 

Until  May,  1796,  beyond  the  close  of  his  fourteenth 
year,  he  lived  at  home,  attending  the  schools  of  Mas- 
ters Chase  and  Tappan,  successively  ; at  work  some- 
times, and  sometimes  at  play  like  any  boy  ; but  finding 
already,  as  few  beside  him  did,  the  stimulations  and 
the  food  of  intellectual  life  in  the  social  library ; 
drinking  in,  unawares,  from  the  moral  and  physical 
aspects  about  him,  the  lesson  and  the  power  of  con- 
tention and  self-trust ; and  learning  how  much  grander 
than  the  forest  bending  to  the  long  storm ; or  the 
silver  and  cherishing  Merrimack  swollen  to  inunda- 
tion, and  turning,  as  love  become  madness,  to  ravage 
the  subject  interval ; or  old  woods  sullenly  retiring 
before  axe  and  fire,  — learning  to  feel  how  much 
grander  than  these  was  the  coming  in  of  civilization 
as  there  he  saw  it,  courage,  labor,  patience,  plain 
living,  heroical  acting,  high  thinking,  beautiful  feeling, 
the  fear  of  God,  love  of  country  and  neighborhood 
and  family,  and  all  that  form  of  human  life  of  which 
his  father  and  mother  and  sisters  and  brother  were 
the  endeared  exemplification.  In  the  arms  of  that 
circle,  on  parent  knees,  or  later,  in  intervals  of  work 
or  play,  the  future  American  Statesman  acquired  the 
idea  of  country,  and  became  conscious  of  a national 
tie  and  a national  life.  There  and  then,  something, 
glimpses,  a little  of  the  romance,  the  sweet  and  bitter 
memories  of  a soldier  and  borderer  of  the  old  colonial 
time  and  war,  opened  to  the  large  dark  e3'’es  of  the 
child;  memories  of  French  and  Indians  stealing  up 


248 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


to  the  very  place  where  the  story  was  telling ; of  men 
shot  down  at  the  plough,  within  sight  of  the  old  log 
house;  of  the  massacre  at  Fort  William  Henry;  of 
Stark,  of  Howe,  of  Wolfe  falling  in  the  arms  of  vic- 
tory ; and  then  of  the  next  age,  its  grander  scenes 
and  higher  names,  — of  the  father’s  part  at  Benning- 
ton and  White  Plains  ; of  Lafayette  and  Washington ; 
and  then  of  the  Constitution,  just  adopted,  and  the 
first  President,  just  inaugurated,  with  services  of  pub- 
lic thanksgiving  to  Almighty  God,  and  the  Union 
just  sprung  into  life,  all  radiant  as  morning,  harbinger 
and  promise  of  a brighter  day.  You  have  heard  how 
in  that  season  he  bought  and  first  read  the  Constitu- 
tion on  the  cotton  handkerchief.  A small  cannon,  I 
think  his  biographers  say,  was  the  ominous  plaything 
of  Napoleon’s  childhood.  But  this  incident  reminds 
us  rather  of  the  youthful  Luther,  astonished  and 
kindling  over  the  first  Latin  Bible  he  ever  saw,  — or 
tlie  still  younger  Pascal,  permitted  to  look  into  the 
Euclid,  to  whose  sublimities  an  irresistible  nature  had 
secretly  attracted  him.  Long  before  his  fourteenth 
year,  the  mother  first,  and  then  the  father,  and  the 
teachers  and  the  schools  and  the  little  neighborhood, 
had  discovered  an  extraordinary  hope  in  the  boy;  a 
purpose,  a dream,  not  yet  confessed,  of  giving  him  an 
education  began  to  be  cherished;  and  in  May,  1796, 
at  the  age  of  a little  more  than  fourteen,  he  was  sent 
to  Exeter.  I have  myself  heard  a gentleman,  long  a 
leader  of  the  Essex  bar,  and  eminent  in  public  life, 
now  no  more,  who  was  then  a pupil  at  the  school, 
describe  his  large  frame,  superb  face,  immature  man- 
ners, and  rustic  dress,  surmounted  with  a student’s 
gown,  when  first  he  came  ; and  say,  too,  how  soon  and 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


249 


uni  \"ersally  liis  capacity  was  owned.  Who  does  not 
wish  that  the  glorious  Buckminster  could  have  fore- 
seen and  witnessed  the  whole  greatness,  but  certainly 
the  renown  of  eloquence,  which  was  to  come  to  the 
young  stranger,  whom,  choking,  speechless,  the  great 
fountain  of  feelings  sealed  as  yet,  he  tried  in  vain  to 
encourage  to  declaim  before  the  unconscious,  bright 
tribes  of  the  school?  The  influences  of  Exeter  on 
him  were  excellent,  but  his  stay  was  brief.  In  the 
Avinter  of  1796  he  was  at  home  again;  and  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1797,  he  was  placed  under  the  private  tuition, 
and  in  the  family,  of  Rev.  Mr.  Wood,  of  BoscaAven. 
It  Avas  on  the  way  with  his  father  to  the  house  of  Mr. 
Wood  that  he  first  heard,  with  astonishment,  that  the 
parental  love  and  good  sense  had  resolved  on  the 
sacrifice  of  giving  him  an  education  at  college.  “ I 
remember,”  he  writes,  “ the  very  hill  we  Avere  ascend- 
ing, through  deep  snows,  in  a New  England  sleigh, 
when  my  father  made  his  purpose  known  to  me.  I 
could  not  speak.  How  could  he,  I thought,  with  so 
large  a family,  and  in  such  narroAv  circumstances, 
think  of  incurring  so  great  an  expense  for  me  ? A 
warm  glow  ran  all  over  me,  and  I laid  my  head  on 
my  father’s  shoulder  and  wept.”  That  speechlessness, 
that  glow,  those  tears,  reveal  to  us  what  his  memory 
and  consciousness  could  hardly  do  to  him,  that  al- 
ready, somewhere,  at  some  hour  of  day  or  evening  or 
night,  as  he  read  some  page,  or  heard  some  narrative, 
or  saw  some  happier  schoolfelloAV  set  off  from  Exeter 
to  begin  his  college  life,  the  love  of  intellectual  en- 
joyment, the  ambition  of  intellectual  supremacy,  had 
taken  hold  of  him ; that,  when  or  how  he  knew  not, 
but  before  he  was  aware  of  it,  the  hope  of  obtaining 


250 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


a liberal  education  and  leading  a professional  life 
had  come  to  be  his  last  thought  before  he  slept,  his 
first  when  he  awoke,  and  to  shape  his  dreams.  Be- 
hold in  them,  too,  his  whole  future.  That  day,  that 
hour,  that  very  moment,  from  the  deep  snows  of  that 
slow  hill  he  set  out  on  the  long  ascent  that  bore  him 
— “ no  step  backward  ” — to  the  high  places  of  the 
world!  He  remained  under  the  tuition  of  Mr.  Wood 
until  August,  1796,  and  then  entered  this  college, 
where  he  was,  at  the  end  of  the  full  term  of  four 
years,  graduated  in  1801.  Of  that  college  life  you 
can  tell  me  more  than  I can  tell  you.  It  is  the  uni- 
versal evidence  that  it  was  distinguished  by  exem- 
plary demeanor,  by  reverence  for  religion,  respect  for 
instructors,  and  observance  of  law.  We  hear  from 
all  sources,  too,  that  it  was  distinguished  by  assiduous 
and  various  studies.  With  the  exception  of  one  or 
two  branches,  for  which  his  imperfect  preparation 
had  failed  to  excite  a taste,  he  is  reported  to  have 
addressed  himself  to  the  prescribed  tasks,  and  to  have 
availed  himself  of  the  whole  body  of  means  of  liberal 
cidture  appointed  by  the  government,  with  decorum 
and  conscientiousness  and  zeal.  We  hear  more  than 
this.  The  whole  course  of  traditions  concerning  his 
college  life  is  full  to  prove  two  facts.  The  first  is, 
that  his  reading  — general  and  various  far  beyond  the 
requirements  of  the  Faculty,  or  the  average  capacity 
of  that  stage  of  the  literary  life  — was  not  solid  and 
useful  merely,  — which  is  vague  commendation,  — 
but  it  was  such  as  predicted  and  educated  the  future 
statesman.  In  English  literature,  — its  finer  parts, 
its  poetry  and  tasteful  reading,  I .mean,  — he  had  read 
much  rather  than  many  things ; but  he  had  read 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


251 


somewhat.  That  a young  man  of  his  emotional  na- 
ture, — full  of  eloquent  feeling,  the  germs  of  a fine 
taste,  the  ear  for  the  music  of  words,  the  eye  for  all 
beauty  and  all  sublimity,  already  in  extraordinary 
measure  his,  — already  practising  the  art  of  composi- 
tion, speech,  and  criticism,  — should  have  recreated 
himself  — as  we  know  he  did  — with  Shakspeare  and 
Pope  and  Addison  ; with  the  great  romance  of  Defoe  ; 
with  the  more  recent  biographies  of  Johnson,  and  his 
grand  imitations  of  Juvenal ; with  the  sweet  and  re- 
fined simplicity  and  abstracted  observation  of  Gold- 
smith, mingled  with  sketches  of  homefelt  delight ; 
with  the  “ Elegy  ” of  Gray,  whose  solemn  touches 
soothed  the  thoughts  or  tested  the  consciousness  of 
the  last  hour;  with  the  vigorous  originality  of  the 
then  recent  Cowper,  whom  he  quoted  when  he  came 
home,  as  it  proved,  to  die,  — this  we  should  have  ex- 
pected. But  I have  heard,  and  believe,  that  it  was 
to  another  institution  more  austere  and  characteristic, 
that  liis  own  mind  was  irresistibly  and  instinctively 
even  then  attracted.  The  conduct  of  what  Locke 
calls  the  human  understanding ; the  limits  of  human 
knowledge ; the  means  of  coming  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  different  classes  of  truth  ; the  laws  of  thought ; 
the  science  of  proofs  which  is  logic ; the  science  of 
morals ; the  facts  of  history ; the  spirit  of  laws ; the 
conduct  and  aims  of  reasonings  in  politics,  — these 
were  the  strong  meat  that  announced  and  began  to 
train  the  great  political  thinker  and  reasoner  of  a 
later  day. 

I have  heard  that  he  might  oftener  be  found  in 
some  solitary  seat  or  walk,  with  a volume  of  Gordon’s 
or  Ramsay’s  Revolution,  or  of  the  “Federalist,”  or  of 


252 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


Hume’s  “ History  of  England,”  or  of  his  “ Essays,” 
or  of  Grotius,  or  Puffendorf,  or  Cicero,  or  Montes- 
quieu, or  Locke,  or  Burke,  than  with  Virgil,  or 
Shakspeare,  or  the  “ Spectator.”  Of  the  history  of 
opinions,  in  the  department  of  philosoiDhy,  he  was 
already  a curious  student.  The  oration  he  delivered 
before  the  United  Fraternity,  when  he  was  graduated, 
treated  that  topic  of  opinion,  under  some  aspects,  — 
as  I recollect  from  once  reading  the  manuscript,  — 
with  copiousness,  judgment,  and  enthusiasm ; aard 
some  of  his  ridicule  of  the  Berkleian  theory  of  the 
non-existence  of  matter,  I well  remember,  anticipated 
the  sarcasm  of  a later  day  on  a currency  all  metal- 
lic, and  on  nullification  as  a strictly  constitutional 
remedy. 

The  other  fact,  as  well  established  by  all  we  can 
gather  of  his  life  in  college,  is,  that  the  faculty,  so 
transcendent  afterwards,  of  moving  the  minds  of  men 
by  speech,  was  already  developed  and  effective  in  a 
remarkable  degree.  Always  there  is  a best  writer  or 
speaker  or  two  in  college ; but  this  stereotyped  desig- 
uation  seems  wholly  inadequate  to  convey  the  im- 
pression he  made  in  his  time.  Many,  now  alive,  have 
said  that  some  of  his  performances,  having  regard  to 
his  youth,  his  objects,  his  topics,  his  audience,  — one 
on  the  celebration  of  Independence,  one  a eulogy  on 
a student  much  beloved,  — produced  an  instant  effect, 
and  left  a recollection  to  which  nothing  else  could  be 
compared ; which  could  be  felt  and  admitted  only, 
not  explained ; but  which  now  the}^  know  were  the 
first  sweet  tones  of  inexplicable  but  delightful  influ- 
ence of  that  voice,  unconfirmed  as  yet,  and  unassured, 
whose  more  consummate  expression  charmed  and  sus- 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


253 


pended  the  soul  of  a nation.  To  read  these  essays 
now,  disappoints  you  somewhat.  As  Quintilian  says 
of  Hortensius,  Apparet  placuisse  aliquid  eo  dicente 
quod  legentes  non  invenimus.  Some  spell  there  was 
in  the  spoken  word  which  the  reader  misses.  To  find 
the  secret  of  that  spell,  you  must  recall  the  youth  of 
Webster.  Beloved  fondly,  and  appreciated  by  that 
circle  as  much  as  by  any  audience,  larger,  more  ex- 
acting, more  various,  and  more  fit,  which  afterwards 
he  found  anywhere  ; known  to  be  manly,  just,  pure, 
generous,  affectionate  ; known  and  felt  by  his  strong 
will,  his  high  aims,  his  commanding  character,  his 
uncommon  and  difficult  studies  ; he  had  every  heart’s 
warmest  good  wish  with  him  when  he  rose;  and  then, 
when,  unchecked  by  any  very  severe  theory  of  taste, 
unoppressed  by  any  dread  of  saying  something  in- 
compatible with  his  place  and  fame,  or  unequal  to 
himself,  he  just  unlocked  the  deep  spring  of  that 
eloquent  feeling,  which,  in  connection  with  his  power 
of  mere  intellect,  was  such  a stupendous  psychological 
mystery,  and  gave  heart  and  soul,  not  to  the  conduct 
of  an  argument,  or  the  investigation  and  display  of 
a truth  of  the  reason,  biit  to  a fervid,  beautiful,  and 
prolonged  emotion,  to  grief,  to  eulogy,  to  the  patriot- 
ism of  scholars,  — why  need  we  doubt  or  wonder,  as 
they  looked  on  that  presiding  brow,  the  eye  large, 
sad,  unworldly,  incapable  to  be  fathomed,  the  lip  and 
chin,  whose  firmness  as  of  chiselled,  perfect  marble, 
profoundest  sensibility  alone  caused  ever  to  tremble, 
why  wonder  at  the  traditions  of  the  charm  which 
they  owned,  and  the  fame  which  they  even  then  pre- 
dicted ? 

His  college  life  closed  in  1801.  For  the  statement 


254 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


that  he  had  thought  of  selecting  the  profession  of 
theology,  the  surviving  members  of  his  family,  his 
son  and  his  brother-in-law,  assure  me  that  there  is  no 
foundation.  Certainly,  he  began  at  once  the  study 
of  the  law,  and,  interrupted  only  by  the  necessity  of 
teaching  an  academy  a few  months,  with  which  he 
united  the  recreation  of  recording  deeds,  he  prose- 
cuted it  at  Salisbury  in  the  ofl&ce  of  Mr.  Thompson, 
and  at  Boston  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Gore,  until  March, 
1805,  when,  resisting  the  sharp  temptation  of  a clerk- 
ship, and  an  annual  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars, 
he  was  admitted  to  the  bar. 

And  so  he  has  put  on  the  robe  of  manhood,  and 
has  come  to  do  the  work  of  life.  Of  his  youth  there 
is  no  need  to  say  more.  It  had  been  pure,  happy, 
strenuous ; in  many  things  privileged.  The  infiu- 
ence  of  home,  of  his  father,  and  the  excellent  mother, 
and  that  noble  brother,  whom  he  loved  so  dearly,  and 
mourned  with  such  sorrow,  — these  influences  on  his 
heart,  principles,  will,  aims,  were  elevated  and  strong. 
At  an  early  age,  comparatively,  the  then  great  dis- 
tinction of  liberal  education  was  his.  His  college 
life  was  brilliant  and  without  a stain ; and  in  moving 
his  admission  to  the  bar,  Mr.  Gore  presented  him  as 
one  of  extraordinary  promise. 

“ With  prospects  bright,  upon  the  world  he  came,  — 

Pure  love  of  virtue,  strong  desire  of  fame ; 

Men  watched  the  way  his  lofty  mind  would  take, 

And  all  foretold  the  progress  he  would  make.” 

And  yet,  if  on  some  day,  as  that  season  was  drawing 
to  its  close,  it  had  been  foretold  to  him,  that  before 
his  life,  prolonged  to  little  more  than  threescore  years 
and  ten,  should  end,  he  should  see  that  country,  in 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


255 


wliich  lie  was  coming  to  act  his  part,  expanded  across 
a continent ; the  thirteen  States  of  1801  multiplied 
to  thirty-one  ; the  territory  of  the  North-west  and  the 
great  valley  below  sown  full  of  those  stars  of  empire  ; 
the  Mississippi  forded,  and  the  Sabine  and  Rio  Grande, 
and  the  Neuces  ; the  ponderous  gates  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  opened  to  shut  no  more  ; the  great  tran- 
quil sea  become  our  sea  ; her  area  seven  times  larger, 
her  people  five  times  more  in  number  ; that  through 
all  experiences  of  trial,  the  madness  of  party,  the 
injustice  of  foreign  powers,  the  vast  enlargement  of 
her  borders,  the  antagonisms  of  interior  interest  and 
feeling,  — the  spirit  of  nationality  would  grow  stronger 
still  and  more  plastic ; that  the  tide  of  American 
feeling  would  run  ever  fuller ; that  her  agriculture 
would  grow  more  scientific ; her  arts  more  various 
and  instructed,  and  better  rewarded ; her  commerce 
winged  to  a wider  and  still  wider  flight ; that  the 
part  she  would  play  in  human  affairs  would  grow  no- 
bler ever,  and  more  recognized ; that  in  this  vast 
growth  of  national  greatness  time  would  be  found  for 
the  higher  necessities  of  the  soul ; that  her  popular 
and  her  higher  education  would  go  on  advancing ; 
that  her  charities  and  all  her  enterprises  of  philan- 
thropy would  go  on  enlarging  ; that  her  age  of  lettered 
glory  should  find  its  auspicious  dawn,  — and  then  it 
had  been  also  foretold  him  that  even  so,  with  her 
growth  and  strength,  should  his  fame  grow  and  be 
established  and  cherished,  there  where  she  should 
garner  up  her  heart ; that  by  long  gradations  of  ser- 
vice and  labor  he  should  rise  to  be,  before  he  should 
taste  of  death,  of  the  peerless  among  her  great  ones ; 
that  he  should  win  the  double  honor,  and  wear  the 


‘256 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER 


double  wreath  of  professional  and  public  supremacy  ; 
that  he  should  become  her  wisest  to  counsel  and  her 
most  eloquent  to  persuade  ; that  he  should  come  to 
be  called  the  Defender  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
preserver  of  honorable  peace  ; that  the  “ austere  gloiy 
of  suffering  ” to  save  the  Union  should  be  his  ; that 
his  death,  at  the  summit  of  greatness,  on  the  verge 
of  a ripe  and  venerable  age,  should  be  distinguished, 
less  by  the  flags  at  half-mast  on  ocean  and  lake,  less 
by  the  minute-gun,  less  by  the  public  procession  and 
the  appointed  eulogy,  than  by  sudden  paleness  over- 
spreading all  faces,  by  gushing  tears,  by  sorrow, 
thoughtful,  boding,  silent,  the  sense  of  desolateness, 
as  if  renown  and  grace  were  dead,  — as  if  the  hunt- 
er’s path,  and  the  sailor’s,  in  the  great  solitude  of 
wilderness  or  sea,  henceforward  were  more  lonely  and 
less  safe  than  before,  — had  this  prediction  been  whis- 
pered, how  calmly  had  that  perfect  sobriety  of  mind 
jDut  it  all  aside  as  a pernicious  or  idle  dream!  Yet, 
in  the  fulfilment  of  that  prediction  is  told  the  remain- 
ing story  of  his  life. 

It  does  not  come  within  the  plan  which  I have 
marked  out  for  this  discourse  to  repeat  the  incidents 
of  that  subsequent  history.  The  more  conspicuous 
are  known  to  you  and  the  whole  American  world. 
Minuter  details  the  time  does  not  permit,  nor  the  oc- 
casion require.  Some  quite  general  views  of  what 
he  became  and  achieved ; some  attempt  to  appreciate 
that  intellectual  power,  and  force  of  will,  and  elabo- 
l ate  culture,  and  that  power  of  eloquence,  so  splendid 
and  remarkable,  by  which  he  wrought  his  work  ; some 
tribute  to  the  endearing  and  noble  parts  of  his  char 
acter  ; and  some  attempt  to  vindicate  the  political 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


257 


morality  by  which  his  public  life  was  guided,  even  to 
its  last  great  act,  are  all  that  I propose,  and  much 
more  than  I can  hope  worthily  to  accomplish. 

In  coining,  then,  to  consider  what  he  became  and 
achieved,  I have  always  thought  it  was  not  easy  to 
lay  too  much  stress,  in  the  first  place,  on  that  realiza- 
tion of  what  might  have  been  regarded  incompatible 
forms  of  superiority,  and  that  exemplification  of  what 
might  have  been  regarded  incompatible  gifts  or 
acquirements  — “ rare  in  their  separate  excellence, 
wonderful  in  their  special  combination  ” — which 
meet  us  in  him  everywhere.  Remark,  first,  that  emi- 
nence — rare,  if  not  unprecedented  — of  the  first 
rate,  in  the  two  substantially  distinct  and  unkindred 
professions,  — that  of  the  law,  and  that  of  public 
life.  In  surveying  that  ultimate  and  finished  great- 
ness in  which  he  stands  before  you  in  his  full  stature 
and  at  his  best,  this  double  and  blended  eminence  is 
the  first  thing  that  fixes  the  eye,  and  the  last.  When 
he  died  he  was  first  of  American  lawyers,  and  first  of 
American  statesmen.  In  both  characters  he  contin- 
ued — discharging  the  foremost  part  in  each  — down 
to  the  falling  of  the  awful  curtain.  Both  characters 
he  kept  distinct,  — the  habits  of  mind,  the  forms  of 
reasoning,  the  nature  of  the  proofs,  the  style  of  elo- 
quence. Neither  hurt  nor  changed  the  other.  How 
much  his  understanding  was  “ quickened  and  invigo- 
rated ” by  the  law,  I have  often  heard  him  acknowl- 
edge and  explain.  But  how,  in  spite  of  the  law, 
was  that  mind,  by  other  felicity,  and  other  culture, 
“ opened  and  liberalized  ” also  ! How  few  of  what 
are  called  the  bad  intellectual  habits  of  the  bar  he 
carried  into  the  duties  of  statesmanship  ! His  inter- 

17 


258 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


pretations  of  the  constitution  and  of  treaties  ; his 
expositions  of  public  law,  — how  little  do  you  find  in 
them,  where,  if  anywhere,  you  would  expect  it,  of 
the  mere  ingenuity,  the  moving  of  “ vermiculate 
questions,”  the  word-catching,  the  scholastic  subtlety 
which,  in  the  phrase  of  his  memorable  quotation, 

“Can  sever  and  divide 
A hair  ’tvvixt  north  and  nortli-vvest  side,”  — 

ascribed  by  satire  to  the  profession  ; and  how  much 
of  its  truer  function,  and  nobler  power  of  calling, 
history,  language,  the  moral  sentiments,  reason,  com- 
mon sense,  the  high  spirit  of  magnanimous  nation- 
ality, to  the  search  of  truth  ! How  little  do  we  find  in 
his  politics  of  another  bad  habit  of  the  profession,  the 
worst  “ idol  of  the  cave,”  a morbid,  unreasoning,  and 
regretful  passion  for  the  past,  that  bends  and  weeps 
over  the  stream,  running  irreversibly,  because  it  will 
not  return,  and  will  not  pause,  and  gives  back  to 
vanity  every  hour  a changed  and  less  beautiful  face  ! 
We  ascribe  to  him  certainly  a sober  and  conservative 
habit  of  mind,  and  such  he  had.  Such  a habit  the 
study  and  practice  of  the  law  doubtless  does  not  im- 
pair. But  his  was  my  Lord  Bacon’s  conservatism. 
He  held  with  him,  “ that  antiquity  deserveth  this 
reverence,  that  men  should  make  a stand  thereupon, 
and  discover  what  is  the  best  way  ; but  when  the 
discovery  is  well  taken,  then  to  make  progression.” 
He  would  keep  the  Union  according  to  the  Constitu- 
tion, not  as  a relic,  a memorial,  a tradition,  — not  for 
what  it  has  done,  though  that  kindled  his  gratitude 
and  excited  his  admiration,  but  for  what  it  is  now  and 
hereafter  to  do,  when  adapted  by  a wise  practical 
philosophy  to  a wider  and  higher  area,  to  larger  num- 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


259 


bers,  to  severer  and  more  glorious  probation.  Who 
better  than  he  has  grasped  and  displayed  the  advanc- 
ing tendencies  and  enlarging  duties  of  America? 
Who  has  caught  — whose  eloquence,  whose  genius, 
whose  counsels,  have  caught  more  adequately  the 
genuine  inspiration  of  our  destiny  ? Who  has  better 
expounded  by  what  moral  and  prudential  policy,  by 
what  improved  culture  of  heart  and  reason,  by  what 
true  worship  of  God,  by  what  good  faith  to  all  other 
nations,  the  dangers  of  that  destiny  may  be  disarmed, 
and  its  large  promise  laid  hold  on  ? 

And  while  the  lawyer  did  not  hurt  the  statesman, 
the  statesman  did  not  hurt  the  lawyer.  More ; the 
statesman  did  not  modify,  did  not  unrobe,  did  not 
tinge,  the  lawyer.  It  would  not  be  to  him  that  the 
epigram  could  have  application,  where  the  old  Latin 
satirist  makes  the  client  complain  that  his  lawsuit  is 
concerning  tres  eapellce,  — three  kids  ; and  that  his 
advocate,  with  large  disdain  of  them,  is  haranguing 
with  loud  voice  and  both  hands,  about  the  slaughters 
of  CannEe,  the  Avar  of  Mithridates,  the  perjuries  of 
Hannibal.  I could  never  detect  that  in  his  discus- 
sions of  law  he  did  not  just  as  much  recognize  au- 
thority, just  as  anxiously  seek  for  adjudications  old 
and  new  in  his  favor,  just  as  closely  sift  them  and 
collate  them,  that  he  might  bring  them  to  his  side  if 
he  could,  or  leave  them  ambiguous  and  harmless  if  he 
could  not ; that  he  did  not  just  as  rigorously  observe 
the  peculiar  mode  Avhich  that  science  employs  in 
passing  from  the  known  to  the  unknown,  the  peculiar 
logic  of  the  law,  as  if  he  had  never  investigated  any 
other  than  legal  truth  by  any  other  organon  than 
legal  logic  in  his  life.  Peculiarities  of  legal  reason- 


260 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


ing  lie  certainly  liad,  Lelonging  to  the  peculiar  struct- 
ure and  vast  power  of  his  mind ; more  original 
thought,  more  discourse  of  principles,  less  of  that 
mere  subtlety  of  analysis  which  is  not  restrained  by 
good  sense,  and  the  higher  power  of  duly  tempering 
and  combining  one  truth  in  a practical  science  with 
other  truths,  from  absurdity  or  mischief ; but  still  it 
was  all  strict  and  exact  legal  reasoning.  The  long 
habit  of  employing  the  more  popular  methods,  the 
probable  and  plausible  conjectures,  the  approxima- 
tions, the  compromises  of  deliberative  discussion,  did 
not  seem  to  have  left  the  least  trace  on  his  vocabu- 
lary, or  his  reasonings,  or  his  demeanor.  No  doubt, 
as  a part  of  his  whole  culture,  it  helped  to  give  en- 
largement and  general  power  and  elevation  of  mind  ; 
but  the  sweet  stream  passed  under  the  bitter  sea,  the 
bitter  sea  pressed  on  the  sweet  stream,  and  each  flowed 
unmingled,  unchanged  in  taste  or  color. 

I have  said  that  this  double  eminence  is  rare,  if  not 
unprecedented.  We  do  no  justice  to  Mr.  Webster,  if 
we  do  not  keep  this  ever  in  mind.  How  many  exem- 
pliflcations  of  it  do  you  find  in  British  public  life  ? 
The  Earl  of  Chatham,  Burke,  Fox,  Sheridan,  Wind- 
ham, Pitt,  Grattan,  Canning,  Peel,  — were  they  also, 
or  any  one,  the  acknowledged  leader  in  Westminster 
Hall  or  on  the  circuit  ? And,  on  the  other  hand, 
would  you  say  that  the  mere  parliamentary  career  of 
Mansfield,  or  Thurlow,  or  Dunning,  or  Erskine,  or 
Camden,  or  Curran,  would  compare  in  duration,  con- 
stancy, variety  of  effort,  the  range  of  topics  discussed, 
the  fulness,  extent,  and  affluence  of  the  discussion, 
the  influence  exerted,  the  space  filled,  the  senatorial 
character  completely  realized — with  his?  In  our 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


261 


own  public  life  it  is  easier  to  find  a parallel.  Great 
names  crowd  on  us  in  each  department ; greater,  or 
more  loved,  or  more  venerable,  no  annals  can  show. 
But  how  few  even  here  have  gathered  the  double 
wreath  and  the  blended  fame  ! 

And  now,  having  observed  the  fact  of  this  combi- 
nation of  quality  and  excellence  scarcely  compatible, 
inspect  for  a moment  each  by  itself. 

The  professional  life  of  Mr.  Webster  began  in  the 
spring  of  1805.  It  may  not  be  said  to  have  ended 
until  he  died ; but  I do  not  know  that  it  happened  to 
him  to  appear  in  court,  for  the  trial  of  a cause,  after 
his  argument  of  the  Goodyear  patent  for  improve- 
ments in  the  prejDaration  of  India-rubber,  in  Trenton, 
in  March,  1852. 

There  I saw,  and  last  heard  him.  The  thirty-four 
3'ears  which  had  elapsed  since,  a member  of  this  Col- 
lege, at  home  for  health,  I first  saw  and  heard  him  in 
the  Supreme  Court  of  Massachusetts,  in  the  county 
of  Essex,  defending  Jackman,  accused  of  the  robbery 
of  Goodrich,  had  in  almost  all  things  changed  him. 
The  raven  hair,  the  vigorous,  full  frame  and  firm 
tread,  the  eminent  but  severe  beauty  of  the  counte- 
nance, not  yet  sealed  with  the  middle  age  of  man, 
the  exuberant  demonstration  of  all  sorts  of  power, 
which  so  marked  him  at  first,  — for  these,  as  once 
they  were,  I explored  in  vain.  Yet  how  far  higher 
was  the  interest  that  attended  him  now : his  sixty- 
nine  years  robed,  as  it  were,  with  honor  and  with 
love,  with  associations  of  great  service  done  to  the 
state,  and  of  great  fame  gathered  and  safe  ; and  then 
the  perfect  mastery  of  the  cause  in  its  legal  and  scien- 
tific principles,  and  in  all  its  facts ; the  admirable 


262 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


clearness  and  order  in  which  his  propositions  were 
advanced  successively ; the  power,  the  occasional 
high  ethical  tone,  the  appropriate  eloquence,  by 
which  they  were  made  probable  and  persuasive  to  the 
judicial  reason,  — these  announced  the  leader  of  the 
American  bar,  with  every  faculty  and  every  accom- 
plishment, by  which  he  had  won  that  proud  title, 
wholly  unimpaired ; the  eye  not  dim  nor  the  natural 
force  abated. 

I cannot  here  and  now  trace,  with  any  minuteness, 
the  course  of  Mr.  Webster  at  the  bar  during  these 
forty-eight  years  from  the  opening  of  his  office  in 
Boscawen ; nor  convey  any  impression  whatever  of 
the  aggregate  of  labor  which  that  course  imposed  ; or 
of  the  intellectual  power  which  it  exacted  ; nor  indi- 
cate the  stages  of  his  rise  ; nor  define  the  time  when 
his  position  at  the  summit  of  the  profession  may  he 
said  to  have  become  completely  vindicated.  You 
hnow,  in  general,  that  he  began  the  practice  of  the 
law  in  New  Hampshire  in  the  spring  of  1805  ; that 
he  prosecuted  it,  here,  in  its  severest  school,  with 
great  diligence,  and  brilliant  success,  among  com- 
petitors of  larger  experience  and  of  consummate 
ability,  until  1816 ; that  he  then  removed  to  Massa- 
chusetts, and  that  there,  in  the  courts  of  that  State, 
and  of  other  States,  and  in  those  of  the  general  gov- 
ernment, and  especially  in  the  Supreme  Court  sitting 
at  Washington,  he  pursued  it  as  the  calling  by  which 
he  was  to  earn  his  daily  bread,  until  he  died.  You 
know,  indeed,  that  he  did  not  pursue  it  exactly  as 
one  pursues  it  who  confines  himself  to  an  office  ; and 
seeks  to  do  the  current  and  miscellaneous  business  of 
a single  bar.  His  professional  employment,  as  I have 


EUXOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


263 


often  heard  him  say,  was  very  much  the  preparation 
of  opinions  on  important  questions,  presented  from 
every  part  of  the  country ; and  the  trial  of  causes. 
This  kind  of  professional  life  allowed  him  seasonable 
vacations  ; and  it  accommodated  itself  somewhat  to 
the  exactions  of  his  other  and  public  life.  But  it 
was  all  one  long  and  continued  practice  of  the  law ; 
the  professional  character  was  never  put  off;  nor  the 
professional  robe  long  unworn  to  the  last. 

You  know,  too,  his  character  as  a jurist.  This 
topic  has  been  recently  and  separately  treated,  with 
great  ability,  by  one  in  a high  degree  competent  to 
the  task,  — the  late  learned  Chief  Justice  of  New 
Hampshire,  now  Professor  of  Law  at  Cambridge ; 
and  it  needs  no  additional  illustration  from  me.  Yet, 
let  me  say,  that  herein,  also,  the  first  thing  which 
strikes  you  is  the  union  of  diverse,  and,  as  I have 
said,  what  might  have  been  regarded  incompatible 
excellences.  I shall  submit  it  to  the  judgment  of  the 
universal  American  bar,  if  a carefully  prepared  opin- 
ion of  Mr.  Webster,  on  any  question  of  law  whatever 
in  the  whole  range  of  our  jurisprudence,  would  not 
be  accepted  everywhere  as  of  the  most  commanding 
authority,  and  as  the  highest  evidence  of  legal  truth? 
I submit  it  to  that  same  judgment,  if  for  many  years 
before  his  death,  they  would  not  have  rather  chosen 
to  intrust  the  maintenance  and  enforcement  of  any 
important  proposition  of  law  whatever,  before  any 
legal  tribunal  of  character  whatever,  to  his  best  exer- 
tion of  his  faculties,  than  to  any  other  ability  which 
the  whole  wealth  of  the  profession  could  supply  ? 

And  this  alone  completes  the  description  of  a law- 
yer and  a forensic  orator  of  the  first  rate  ; but  it  does 


264 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


not  complete  the  description  of  his  professional  ehar- 
acter.  By  the  side  of  all  this,  so  to  speak,  there  was 
that  whole  class  of  qualities  which  made  him  for 
any  description  of  trial  by  jury  whatever,  criminal  or 
civil,  by  even  a more  universal  assent,  foremost.  For 
that  form  of  trial  no  faculty  was  unused  or  needless ; 
but  you  were  most  struck  there  to  see  the  unrivalled 
legal  reason  put  off,  as  it  were,  and  reappear  in  the 
form  of  a robust  common  sense  and  eloquent  feeling, 
applying  itself  to  an  exciting  subject  of  business ; 
to  see  the  knowledge  of  men  and  life  by  which  the 
falsehood  and  veraeity  of  witnesses,  the  probabilities 
and  improbabilities  of  transactions  as  sworn  to,  were 
discerned  in  a moment ; the  direct,  plain,  forcible 
speech ; the  consummate  narrative,  a department 
which  he  had  particularly  cultivated,  and  in  which 
no  man  ever  excelled  him ; the  easy  and  perfect 
analysis  by  which  he  conveyed  his  side  of  the  cause 
to  the  mind  of  the  jury ; the  oecasional  gush  of 
strong  feeling,  indignation,  or  pity ; the  masterly, 
yet  natural  way,  in  wliich  all  the  moral  emotions  of 
which  his  cause  was  susceptible  were  called  to  use, 
the  occasional  sovereignty  of  dictation  to  which  his 
convictions  seemed  spontaneously  to  rise.  His  efforts 
in  trials  by  jury  compose  a more  traditional  and  eva- 
nescent part  of  his  professional  reputation  than  his 
arguments  on  questions  of  law ; but  I almost  think 
tliey  were  his  mightiest  professional  displays,  or  dis- 
plays of  any  kind,  after  all. 

One  such  I stood  in  a relation  to  witness  with  a 
comparatively  easy  curiosity,  and  yet  with  intimate 
and  professional  knowledge  of  all  the  embarrass- 
ments of  the  case.  It  was  the  trial  of  John  Francis 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


205 


Kuapp,  charged  with  being  present,  aiding,  and  abet- 
ting in  the  murder  of  Joseph  White,  in  which  Mr. 
Webster  conducted  the  prosecution  for  the  Common- 
wealth,— in  the  same  year  with  his  reply  to  INIr. 
Hayne,  in  the  Senate  and  a few  months  later,  — and 
when  I bring  to  mind  the  incidents  of  that  trial ; 
the  necessity  of  proving  that  the  prisoner  was  near 
enouo-h  to  the  chamber  in  which  the  murder  was 

O 

being  committed  by  another  hand  to  aid  in  the  act, 
and  was  there  with  the  intention  to  do  so,  and  thus 
in  point  of  law  did  aid  in  it  — because  mere  accesso- 
rial guilt  was  not  enough  to  convict  him  ; the  diffi- 
culty of  proving  this — because  the  nearest  point  to 
which  the  evidence  could  trace  him  was  still  so  dis- 
tant as  to  warrant  a pretty  formidable  doubt  whether 
mere  curiosity  had  not  carried  him  thither ; and 
whether  he  could  in  any  useful  or  even  conceivable 
manner  have  cooperated  with  the  actual  murderer,  if 
he  had  intended  to  do  so  ; and  because  the  only  mode 
of  rendering  it  probable  that  he  was  there  with  a 
purpose  of  guilt  was  by  showing  that  he  was  one  of 
the  parties  to  a conspiracy  of  mm-der,  whose  very 
existence,  actors,  and  objects,  had  to  be  made  out  by 
the  collation  of  the  widest  possible  range  of  circum- 
stances— some  of  them  pretty  loose  ; and  even  if  he 
was  a conspirator,  it  did  not  quite  necessarily  follow 
that  any  active  participation  was  assigned  to  him  for 
his  part,  any  more  than  to  his  brother,  who,  con- 
fessedly took  no  such  part  — the  great  number  of 
witnesses  to  be  examined  and  cross-examined,  a duty 
devolving  wholly  on  him  ; the  quick  and  sound  judg- 
ment demanded  and  supplied  to  determine  what  to 
use  and  what  to  reject  of  a mass  of  rather  unmanage- 


266 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


able  materials ; the  points  in  the  law  of  evidence  to 
be  argued  j — in  the  course  of  which  he  made  an  ap- 
peal to  the  Bench  on  the  complete  impunity  which 
the  rejection  of  the  prisoner’s  confession  would  give 
to  the  murder,  in  a style  of  dignity  and  energy,  I 
should  rather  say  of  grandeur,  which  I never  heard 
him  equal  before  or  after ; the  high  ability  and 
fidelity  with  which  every  part  of  the  defence  was  con- 
ducted ; and  the  great  final  summing  up  to  which  he 
brought,  and  in  which  he  needed,  the  utmost  exer- 
tion of  every  faculty  he  possessed  to  persuade  the 
jury  that  the  obligation  of  that  duty  the  sense  of 
which,  he  said,  “ pursued  us  ever  : it  is  omnipresent 
like  the  Deity:  if  we  take  the  wings  of  the  morning 
and  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea,  duty 
performed  or  duty  violated  is  still  with  us  for  our 
happiness  or  misery  ” — to  persuade  them  that  this 
obligation  demanded  that  on  his  proofs  they  should 
convict  the  prisoner : to  which  he  brought  fii’st  the 
profound  belief  of  his  guilt,  without  which  he  could 
not  have  prosecuted  him ; then  skill  consummate  in 
inspiring  them  with  a desire  or  a willingness  to  be 
instrumental  in  detecting  that  guilt ; and  to  lean  on 
him  in  the  effort  to  detect  it ; then  every  resource  of 
professional  ability  to  break  the  force  of  the  proposi- 
tions of  the  defence,  and  to  establish  the  truth  of  his 
own : inferring  a conspiracy  to  which  the  prisoner 
was  a party,  from  circumstances  acutely  ridiculed  by 
the  able  counsel  opposing  him  as  “Stuff” — but 
woven  by  him  into  strong  and  uniform  tissue  ; and 
then  bridging  over  from  the  conspiracy  to  the  not 
very  necessary  inference  that  the  particular  conspira- 
tor on  trial  was  at  his  post,  in  execution  of  it,  to  aid 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


267 


and  abet  — the  picture  of  the  murder  with  which  he 
begun  — not  for  rhetorical  display,  but  to  inspire 
solemnity  and  horror,  and  a desire  to  detect  and 
punish  for  justice  and  for  security ; the  sublime  ex- 
hortation to  duty  with  which  he  closed  — resting  on 
the  universality,  and  authoritativeness,  and  eternity 
of  its  obligation  — which  left  in  every  juror’s  mind 
the  impression  that  it  was  the  duty  of  convicting  in 
this  particular  case  the  sense  of  which  would  be  with 
him  in  the  hour  of  death,  and  in  the  judgment,  and 
for  ever  — with  these  recollections  of  that  trial  I can- 
not help  thinking  it  a more  difficult  and  higher  effort 
of  mind  than  that  more  famous  “ Oration  for  the 
Crown.” 

It  would  be  not  unpleasing  nor  inappropriate  to 
pause,  and  recall  the  names  of  some  of  that  succes- 
sion of  competitors  by  whose  rivalry  the  several 
stages  of  his  professional  life  were  honored  and  ex- 
ercised; and  of  some  of  the  eminent  judicial  persons 
who  presided  over  that  various  and  high  contention. 
Time  scarcely  permits  this  ; but  in  the  briefest  notice 
I must  take  occasion  to  say  that  perhaps  the  most 
important  influence — certainly  the  most  important 
early  influence  — on  his  professional  traits  and  for- 
tunes was  that  exerted  by  the  great  general  abilities, 
impressive  character,  and  legal  genius  of  Mr.  Mason. 
Who  he  was  you  all  know.  How  much  the  juris- 
prudence of  New  Hampshire  owes  to  him ; what 
deep  traces  he  left  on  it;  how  much  he  did  to 
promote  the  culture,  and  to  preserve  the  integrity, 
of  the  old  common  law ; to  adapt  it  to  your  wants, 
and  your  institutions ; and  to  construct  a system 
of  practice  by  which  it  was  administered  with  ex- 


268 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


traordinary  energy  and  effectiveness  for  the  discovery 
of  truth,  and  the  enforcement  of  right ; you  of  the 
legal  profession  of  this  State  will  ever  be  proud 
to  acknowledge.  Another  forum  in  a neighboring 
commonwealth  witnessed  and  profited  by  the  last  la- 
bors and  enlarged  studies  of  the  consummate  lawyer 
and  practiser ; and  at  an  earlier  day  the  Senate,  the 
country,  had  recognized  his  vast  practical  wisdom 
and  sagacity,  the  fruit  of  the  highest  intellectual 
endowments,  matured  thought,  and  profound  observa- 
tion ; his  fidelity  to  the  obligations  of  that  party  con- 
nection to  which  he  was  attached  ; his  fidelity  through 
all  his  life,  still  more  conspicuous  and  still  more  ad- 
mirable, to  the  higher  obligations  of  a considerate 
and  enlarged  patriotism.  He  had  been  more  than 
fourteen  years  at  the  bar,  when  Mr.  Webster  came  to 
it ; he  discerned  instantly  what  manner  of  man  his 
youthful  competitor  was ; he  admitted  him  to  his 
intimate  friendship ; and  paid  him  the  unequivocal 
compliment,  and  did  him  the  real  kindness,  of  com- 
pelling him  to  the  utmost  exertion  of  his  diligence 
and  capacity  by  calling  out  against  him  all  his  own. 
“The  proprieties  of  this  occasion”  — these  are  Mr. 
Webster’s  words  in  presenting  the  resolutions  of  the 
Suffolk  Bar  upon  Mr.  Mason’s  death  — “compel  me, 
with  whatever  reluctance,  to  refrain  from  the  indul- 
gence of  the  personal  feelings  which  arise  in  my  heart 
upon  the  death  of  one  with  whom  I have  cultivated 
a sincere,  affectionate,  and  unbroken  friendship,  from 
the  day  when  I commenced  my  own  professional  ca- 
reer to  the  closing  hour  of  his  life.  I will  not  say  of 
the  advantages  which  I have  derived  from  his  inter- 
course and  conversation  all  that  Mr.  Fox  said  of 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


269 


Edmund  Burke ; but  I am  bound  to  say,  that  of  my 
own  professional  discipline  and  attainments,  whatever 
they  may  be,  I owe  much  to  that  close  attention  to 
the  discharge  of  my  duties  which  I was  compelled  to 
pay  for  nine  successive  years,  from  day  to  day,  by 
Mr.  Mason’s  efforts  and  arguments  at  the  same  bar. 
I must  have  been  unintelligent  indeed,  not  to  have 
learned  something  from  the  constant  displays  of  that 
power  which  I had  so  much  occasion  to  see  and  feel."’ 

I reckon  next  to  his,  for  the  earlier  time  of  his  life, 
the  influence  of  the  learned  and  accomplished  Smith  ; 
and  next  to  these  — some  may  believe  greater  — is 
that  of  Mr.  Justice  Story.  That  extraordinary  per- 
son had  been  admitted  to  the  bar  in  Essex  in  Massa- 
chusetts in  1801 ; and  he  was  engaged  in  many  trials 
in  the  county  of  Rockingham  in  this  State  before  Mr. 
Webster  had  assumed  his  own  established  position. 
Their  political  opinions  differed;  but  such  was  his 
affluence  of  knowledge  already ; such  his  stimulant 
enthusiasm  ; he  was  burning  with  so  incredible  a pas- 
sion for  learning  and  fame,  that  the  influence  on  the 
still  young  Webster  was  instant;  and  it  was  great 
and  permanent.  It  was  reciprocal  too ; and  an  in- 
timacy began  that  attended  the  whole  course  of  honor 
through  which  each,  in  his  several  sphere,  ascended. 
Parsons  he  saw,  also,  but  rarely ; and  Dexter  oftener, 
and  with  more  nearness  of  observation,  while  yet  lay- 
ing the  foundation  of  his  own  mind  and  character ; 
and  he  shared  largely  in  the  universal  admiration  of 
that  time,  and  of  this,  of  their  attainments  and  genius 
and  diverse  greatness. 

As  he  came  to  the  grander  practice  of  the  national 
bar,  other  competition  was  to  be  encountered.  Other 


270 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


names  begin  to  solicit  us ; other  contention ; higher 
prizes.  It  would  be  quite  within  the  proprieties  of 
this  discourse  to  remember  the  parties,  at  least,  to 
some  of  the  higher  causes,  by  which  his  ultimate 
professional  fame  was  built  up ; even  if  I could  not 
iiope  to  convey  an}’-  impression  of  the  novelty  and 
difficulty  of  the  questions  which  they  involved,  or  of 
the  positive  addition  which  the  argument,  and  judg- 
ment, made  to  the  treasures  of  our  constitutional  and 
general  jurisprudence.  But  there  is  only  one  of  which 
I have  time  to  say  any  thing,  and  that  is  the  case 
which  established  the  inviolability  of  the  charter  of 
Dartmouth  College  by  the  Legislature  of  the  State 
of  New  Hampshire.  Acts  of  the  Legislature,  passed 
in  the  year  1816,  had  invaded  its  charter.  A suit 
was  brought  to  test  their  validity.  It  was  tried  in 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  State  ; a judgment  was 
given  against  the  College,  and  this  was  appealed  to 
the  Supreme  Federal  Court  by  writ  of  error.  Upon 
solemn  argument  the  charter  was  decided  to  be  a 
contract  whose  obligation  a State  may  not  impair ; 
the  acts  were  decided  to  be  invalid  as  an  attempt  to 
impair  it,  and  you  hold  your  charter  under  that  decision 
to-day.  How  much  Mr.  Webster  contributed  to  that 
result,  how  much  the  effort  advanced  his  own  distinc- 
tion at  the  bar,  you  all  know.  Well,  as  if  of  yes- 
terday, I remember  how  it  was  written  home  from 
Washington,  that  “ Mr.  Webster  closed  a legal  argu- 
ment of  great  power  by  a peroration  which  charmed 
and  melted  his  audience.”  Often  since,  I have  heard 
vague  accounts,  not  much  more  satisfactory,  of  the 
speech  and  the  scene.  I was  aware  that  the  report 
of  his  argument,  as  it  was  published,  did  not  contain 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


271 


the  actual  peroration,  and  I supposed  it  lost  for  ever. 
By  the  great  kindness  of  a learned  and  excellent  per- 
son, Dr.  Chauncy  A.  Goodrich,  a professor  in  Yale 
College,  with  whom  I had  not  the  honor  of  acquaint- 
ance, although  his  virtues,  accomplishments,  and  most 
useful  life  were  well  known  to  me,  I can  read  to  you 
the  words  whose  power,  when  those  lips  spoke  them, 
so  many  owned,  although  they  could  not  repeat  them. 
As  those  lips  spoke  them,  we  shall  hear  them  never- 
more, but  no  utterance  can  extinguish  their  simple, 
sweet,  and  perfect  beauty.  Let  me  first  bring  the 
general  scene  before  you,  and  then  you  will  hear  the 
rest  in  Mr.  Goodrich’s  description.  It  was  in  1818, 
in  the  thirty-seventh  year  of  Mr.  Webster’s  age.  It 
was  addressed  to  a tribunal  presided  over  by  Mar- 
shall, assisted  by  Washington,  Livingston,  Johnson, 
Story,  Todd,  and  Duvall,  — a tribunal  unsurpassed 
on  earth  in  all  that  gives  illustration  to  a bench  of 
law,  and  sustained  and  venerated  by  a noble  bar.  He 
had  called  to  his  aid  the  ripe  and  beautiful  culture  of 
Hopkinson  ; and  of  his  opponents  was  William  Wirt, 
then  and  ever  of  the  leaders  of  the  bar,  who,  Avith 
faculties  and  accomplishments  fitting  him  to  adorn 
and  guide  public  life,  abounding  in  deep  professional 
learning,  and  in  the  most  various  and  elegant  acquisi- 
tions, — a ripe  and  splendid  orator,  made  so  by  genius 
and  the  most  assiduous  cidture,  — consecrated  all  to 
the  service  of  the  law.  It  was  before  that  tribunal, 
and  in  presence  of  an  audience  select  and  critical, 
among  whom,  it  is  to  be  borne  in  mind,  were  some 
graduates  of  the  college,  who  were  attending  to  assist 
against  her,  that  he  opened  the  cause.  I gladly  pro- 
ceed in  the  words  of  Mr.  Goodrich. 


272 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


“ Before  going  to  Washington,  which  I did  chiefly 
for  the  sake  of  hearing  Mr.  Webster,  I was  told  that, 
in  arguing  the  case  at  Exeter,  New  Hampshire,  he 
had  left  the  whole  court-room  in  tears  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  speech.  This,  I confess,  struck  me  un- 
pleasantly, — any  attempt  at  pathos  on  a purely  legal 
question  like  this  seemed  hardly  in  good  taste.  On 
my  way  to  Washington  I made  the  acquaintance  of 
Mr.  Webster.  We  were  together  for  several  days  in 
Philadelphia,  at  the  house  of  a common  friend ; and 
as  the  College  question  was  one  of  deep  interest  to 
literary  men,  we  conversed  often  and  largely  on  the 
subject.  As  he  dwelt  upon  the  leading  points  of  the 
case,  in  terms  so  calm,  simple,  and  precise,  I said  to 
myself  more  than  once,  in  reference  to  the  story  I 
had  heard,  ‘ Whatever  may  have  seemed  appropriate 
in  defending  the  College  at  home^  and  on  her  own 
ground,  there  will  be  no  appeal  to  the  feelings  of 
Judge  Marshall  and  his  associates  at  Washington.’ 
The  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  held  its 
session,  that  winter,  in  a mean  apartment  of  moderate 
size,  — the  Capitol  not  having  been  built  after  its 
destruction  in  1814.  The  audience,  when  the  case 
came  on,  was  therefore  small,  consisting  chiefly  of 
legal  men,  the  elite  of  the  profession  throughout  the 
country.  Mr.  Webster  entered  upon  his  argument  in 
the  calm  tone  of  easy  and  dignified  conversation.  His 
matter  was  so  completely  at  his  command  that  he 
scarcely  looked  at  his  brief,  but  went  on  for  more 
than  four  hours  with  a statement  so  luminous,  and 
a chain  of  reasoning  so  easy  to  be  understood,  and 
yet  approaching  so  nearly  to  absolute  demonstration, 
that  he  seemed  to  carry  with  him  every  man  of  his 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


273 


audience  without  the  slightest  effort  or  weariness  on 
either  side.  It  was  hardly  eloquence,  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  term ; it  was  pure  reason.  Now  and 
then,  for  a sentence  or  two,  his  eye  flashed  and  his 
voice  swelled  into  a bolder  note,  as  he  uttered  some 
emphatic  thought ; but  he  instantly  fell  back  into  the 
tone  of  earnest  conversation,  which  ran  throughout 
the  great  body  of  his  speech.  A single  circumstance 
will  show  you  the  clearness  and  absorbing  power  of 
his  argument. 

“ I observed  that  Judge  Story,  at  the  opening  of 
the  case,  had  prepared  himself,  pen  in  hand,  as  if  to 
take  copious  minutes.  Hour  after  hour  I saw  him 
fixed  in  the  same  attitude,  but,  so  far  as  I could  per- 
ceive, with  not  a note  on  his  paper.  The  argument 
closed,  and  I could  not  discover  that  he  had  taken  a 
single  note.  Others  around  me  remarked  the  same 
thing;  and  it  was  among  the  on  dits  of  Washington, 
that  a friend  spoke  to  him  of  the  fact  with  surprise, 
when  the  Judge  remarked,  ‘ Every  thing  was  so  clear, 
and  so  easy  to  remember,  that  not  a note  seemed 
necessary,  and,  in  fact,  I thought  little  or  nothing 
about  my  notes.’ 

“ The  argument  ended.  Mr.  Webster  stood  for 
some  moments  silent  before  the  Court,  while  every 
eye  was  fixed  intently  upon  him.  At  length,  ad- 
dressing the  Chief  Justice,  Marshall,  he  proceeded 
thus : — 

“ ‘ This,  Sir,  is  my  case  ! It  is  the  case,  not  merely 
of  that  humble  institution,  it  is  the  case  of  every 
College  in  our  land.  It  is  more.  It  is  the  case  of 
every  Eleemosynary  Institution  throughout  oui-  coun- 
try, — of  all  those  great  charities  founded  by  the  piety 

18 


274 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


of  our  ancestors  to  alleviate  human  misery,  and  scatter 
blessings  along  the  pathway  of  life.  It  is  more  ! It 
is,  in  some  sense,  the  case  of  every  man  among  us  who 
has  property  of  which  he  may  be  stripped ; for  the 
question  is  simply  this : Shall  our  State  Legislatures 
be  allowed  to  take  that  which  is  not  their  own,  to  turn 
it  from  its  original  use,  and  apply  it  to  such  ends  or 
purposes  as  they,  in  their  discretion,  shall  see  fit ! 

“ ‘ Sir,  you  may  destroy  this  little  Institution  ; it  is 
weak  ; it  is  in  your  hands  ! I know  it  is  one  of  the 
lesser  lights  in  the  literary  horizon  of  our  country. 
You  may  put  it  out.  But  if  you  do  so,  you  must 
carry  through  your  work ! You  must  extinguish, 
one  after  another,  all  those  great  lights  of  science 
which,  for  more  than  a century,  have  thrown  their 
radiance  over  our  land ! 

“ ‘ It  is.  Sir,  as  I have  said,  a small  College.  And 
yet  there  are  those  who  love  it  ’ — 

“ Here  the  feelings  which  he  had  thus  far  suc- 
ceeded in  keeping  down  broke  forth.  His  lips  quiv- 
ered ; his  firm  cheeks  trembled  with  emotion ; his 
ej'es  were  filled  with  tears,  his  voice  choked,  and  he 
seemed  struggling  to  the  utmost  simply  to  gain  that 
mastery  over  himself  which  might  save  him  from  an 
unmanly  burst  of  feeling.  I will  not  attempt  to  give 
you  the  few  broken  words  of  tenderness  in  which  he 
went  on  to  speak  of  his  attachment  to  the  College. 
The  whole  seemed  to  be  mingled  throughout  with  the 
recollections  of  father,  mother,  brother,  and  all  the 
trials  and  privations  through  which  he  had  made  his 
way  into  life.  Every  one  saw  that  it  was  wholly  un- 
premeditated, a pressure  on  his  heart,  which  sought 
relief  in  words  and  tears. 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


275 


“ The  court-room  during  these  two  or  three  min- 
utes presented  an  extraordinary  spectacle.  Chief 
Justice  Marshall,  with  his  tall  and  gaunt  figure  bent 
over  as  if  to  catch  the  slightest  whisper,  the  deep 
furrows  of  his  cheek  expanded  with  emotion,  and 
eyes  suffused  with  tears  ; Mr.  Justice  Washington  at 
his  side,  — with  his  small  and  emaciated  frame,  and 
countenance  more  like  marble  than  I ever  saw  on  any 
other  human  being,  — leaning  forward  with  an  eager, 
troubled  look ; and  the  remainder  of  the  Court,  at 
the  two  extremities,  pressing,  as  it  were,  toward  a 
single  point,  while  the  audience  below  were  wrapping 
themselves  round  in  closer  folds  beneath  the  bench 
to  catch  each  look,  and  every  movement  of  the 
speaker’s  face.  If  a painter  could  give  us  the  scene 
on  canvas,  — those  forms  and  countenances,  and  Dan- 
iel Webster  as  he  then  stood  in  the  midst,  it  would 
be  one  of  the  most  touching  pictures  in  the  history 
of  eloquence.  One  thing  it  taught  me,  that  the 
pathetic  depends  not  merely  on  the  words  uttered, 
but  still  more  on  the  estimate  we  put  upon  him  who 
utters  them.  There  was  not  one  among  the  strong- 
minded  men  of  that  assembly  who  could  think  it  un- 
manly to  weep,  when  he  saw  standing  before  him  the 
man  who  had  made  such  an  argument,  melted  into 
the  tenderness  of  a child. 

“ Mr.  Webster  had  now  recovered  his  composure, 
and  fixing  his  keen  eye  on  the  Chief  Justice,  said,  in 
that  deep  tone  with  which  he  sometimes  thrilled  the 
heart  of  an  audience,  — 

“ ‘ Sir,  I know  not  how  others  may  feel,’  (glancing 
at  the  opponents  of  the  College  before  him,)  ‘ but,  for 
myself,  when  I see  my  Alma  Mater  surrounded,  like 


276 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


Caesar  in  the  senate-house,  by  those  who  are  reiterat- 
ing stab  upon  stab,  I would  not,  for  this  right  hand, 
have  her  turn  to  me,  and  say,  Et  tu  quoque^  mi  fill ! 
And  thou  too^  my  son  ! ’ 

“ He  sat  down.  There  was  a deathlike  stillness 
throughout  the  room  for  some  moments  ; every  one 
seemed  to  be  slowly  recovering  himself,  and  coming 
gradually  back  to  his  ordinary  range  of  thought  and 
feeling.” 

It  was  while  Mr.  Webster  was  ascending  through 
the  long  gradations  of  the  legal  profession  to  its  high- 
est rank,  that  by  a parallel  series  of  display  on  a 
stage,  and  in  parts  totally  distinct,  by  other  studies, 
thoughts,  and  actions,  he  rose  also  to  be  at  his  death 
the  first  of  American  statesmen.  The  last  of  the 
mighty  rivals  was  dead  before,  and  he  stood  alone. 
Give  this  aspect  also  of  his  greatness  a passing  glance. 
His  public  life  began  in  May,  1813,  in  the  House  of 
Representatives  in  Congress,  to  which  this  State  had 
elected  him.  It  ended  when  he  died.  If  you  except 
the  interval  between  his  removal  from  New  Hamp- 
shire and  his  election  in  Massachusetts,  it  was  a pub- 
lic life  of  forty  years.  By  what  political  morality, 
and  by  what  enlarged  patriotism,  embracing  the 
whole  country,  that  life  was  guided,  I shall  consider 
hereafter.  Let  me  now  fix  your  attention  rather  on 
the  magnitude  and  variety  and  actual  value  of  the 
service.  Consider  that  from  the  day  he  went  upon 
the  Committee  of  Foreign  Relations,  in  1813,  in  time 
of  war,  and  more  and  more,  the  longer  he  lived  and 
the  higher  he  rose,  he  was  a man  whose  great  talents 
and  devotion  to  public  duty  placed  and  kept  him  in 
a position  of  associated  or  sole  command ; command 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


277 


in  the  political  connection  to  which  he  belonged, 
command  in  opposition,  command  in  power  ; and 
appreciate  the  responsibilities  which  that  implies, 
what  care,  what  prudence,  what  mastery  of  the  whole 
ground,  — exacting  for  the  conduct  of  a party,  as 
Gibbon  says  of  Fox,  abilities  and  civil  discretion 
equal  to  the  conduct  of  an  empire.  Consider  the 
work  he  did  in  that  life  of  forty  years  — the  range  of 
subjects  investigated  and  discussed ; composing  the 
whole  theory  and  practice  of  our  organic  and  admin- 
istrative politics,  foreign  and  domestic  : the  vast  body 
of  instructive  thought  he  produced  and  put  in  pos- 
session of  the  country ; how  much  he  achieved  in 
Congress  as  well  as  at  the  bar,  to  fix  the  true  inter- 
pretation, as  well  as  to  impress  the  transcendent  value 
of  the  Constitution  itself,  as  much  altogether  as-  any 
jurist  or  statesman  since  its  adoption ; how  much  to 
establish  in  the  general  mind  the  great  doctrine 
that  the  government  of  the  United  States  is  a gov- 
ernment proper,  established  by  the  people  of  the 
States,  not  a compact  between  sovereign  communi- 
ties, — that  within  its  limits  it  is  supreme,  and  that 
whether  it  is  within  its  limits  or  not,  in  any  given 
exertion  of  itself,  is  to  be  determined  by  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  United  States  — the  ultimate  arbiter  in 
the  last  resort  — from  which  there  is  no  appeal  but 
to  revolution ; how  much  he  did  in  the  course  of  the 
discussions  which  grew  out  of  the  proposed  mission 
to  Panama,  and,  at  a later  day,  out  of  the  removal 
of  the  deposits,  to  place  the  executive  department  of 
the  government  on  its  true  basis,  and  under  its  true 
limitations ; to  secure  to  that  department  all  its  just 
powers  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  hand  to 


278 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


vindicate  to  the  legislative  department,  and  especially 
to  the  Senate,  all  that  belong  to  them  ; to  arrest  the 
tendencies  which  he  thought  at  one  time  threatened 
to  substitute  the  government  of  a single  will,  of  a 
single  person  of  great  force  of  character  and  bound- 
less popularity,  and  of  a numerical  majority  of  the 
people,  told  by  the  head,  without  intermediate  insti- 
tutions of  any  kind,  judicial  or  senatorial,  in  place  of 
the  elaborate  system  of  checks  and  balances,  by  which 
the  Constitution  aimed  at  a government  of  laws,  and 
not  of  men  ; how  much,  attracting  less  popular  atten- 
tion, but  scarcely  less  important,  to  complete  the 
great  work  which  experience  had  shown  to  be  left 
unfinished  by  the  judiciary  act  of  1789,  by  providing 
for  the  punishment  of  all  crimes  against  the  United 
States  ; how  much  for  securing  a safe  currency  and  a 
true  financial  system,  not  only  by  the  promulgation 
of  sound  opinions,  but  by  good  specific  measures 
adopted,  or  bad  ones  defeated ; how  much  to  develop 
the  vast  material  resources  of  the  country,  and  to 
push  forward  the  planting  of  the  W est  — not  troubled 
by  any  fear  of  exhausting  old  States — by  a liberal 
policy  of  public  lands,  by  vindicating  the  constitu- 
tional power  of  Congress  to  make  or  aid  in  making 
large  classes  of  internal  improvements,  and  by  acting 
on  that  doctrine  uniformly  from  1813,  whenever  a 
road  was  to  be  built,  or  a rapid  suppressed,  or  a canal 
to  be  opened,  or  a breakwater  or  a lighthouse  set  up 
above  or  below  the  fiow  of  the  tide,  if  so  far  beyond 
the  ability  of  a single  State,  or  of  so  wide  utility  to 
commerce  and  labor  as  to  rise  to  the  rank  of  a work 
general  in  its  influences  — another  tie  of  union  be- 
cause another  proof  of  the  beneficence  of  union ; 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


279 


how  much  to  protect  the  vast  mechanical  and  manu- 
facturing interests  of  the  countrj^  a value  of  many 
hundreds  of  millions  — after  having  been  lured  into 
existence  against  his  counsels,  against  his  science  of 
political  economy,  by  a policy  of  artificial  encourage- 
ment — from  being  sacrificed,  and  the  pursuits  and 
plans  of  large  regions  and  communities  broken  up, 
and  the  acquired  skill  of  the  country  squandered  by 
a sudden  and  capricious  withdrawal  of  the  promise 
of  the  government ; how  much  for  the  right  perform- 
ance of  the  most  delicate  and  difficult  of  all  tasks, 
the  ordering  of  the  foreign  affairs  of  a nation,  free, 
sensitive,  self-conscious,  recognizing,  it  is  true,  public 
law  and  a morality  of  the  State,  binding  on  the  con- 
science of  the  State,  yet  aspiring  to  power,  eminence, 
and  command,  its  whole  frame  filled  full  and  all  on 
fire  with  American  feeling,  sympathetic  with  liberty 
everywhere  — how  much  for  the  right  ordering  of  the 
foreign  affairs  of  such  a State  — aiming  in  all  his 
policy,  from  his  speech  on  the  Greek  question  in 
1823,  to  his  letters  to  M.  Hulsemann  in  1850,  to 
occupy  the  high,  plain,  yet  dizzy  ground  which  sepa- 
rates influence  from  intervention,  to  avow  and  pro- 
mulgate warm  good-will  to  humanity,  wherever 
striving  to  be  free,  to  inquire  authentically  into  the 
history  of  its  struggles,  to  take  official  and  avowed 
pains  to  ascertain  the  moment  when  its  success  may 
be  recognized,  consistently,  ever,  with  the  great  code 
that  keeps  the  peace  of  the  world,  abstaining  from 
every  thing  that  shall  give  any  nation  a right  under 
the  law  of  nations  to  utter  one  word  of  complaint, 
still  less  to  retaliate  by  war  — the  sympathy,  but  also 
the  neutrality,  of  Washington  — how  much  to  com- 


280 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


pose  with  honor  a concurrence  of  difficulties  with  the 
first  power  in  the  world,  which  any  thing  less  than 
the  highest  degree  of  discretion,  firmness,  ability,  and 
means  of  commanding  respect  and  confidence  at  home 
and  abroad  would  inevitably  have  conducted  to  the 
last  calamity  — a disputed  boundary  line  of  many 
hundred  miles,  from  the  St.  Croix  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  which  divided  an  exasperated  and  im- 
practicable border  population,  enlisted  the  pride  and 
affected  the  interests  and  controlled  the  politics  of 
particular  States,  as  well  as  pressed  on  the  peace  and 
honor  of  the  nation,  which  the  most  popular  adminis- 
trations of  the  era  of  the  quietest  and  best  public 
feelings,  the  times  of  Monroe  and  of  Jackson,  could 
not  adjust ; which  had  grown  so  complicated  with 
other  topics  of  excitement  that  one  false  step,  right 
or  left,  would  have  been  a step  down  a precipice  — 
this  line  settled  for  ever  — the  claim  of  England  to 
search  our  ships  for  the  suppression  of  the  slave- 
trade  silenced  for  ever,  and  a new  engagement  entered 
into  by  treaty,  binding  the  national  faith  to  contrib- 
ute a specific  naval  force  for  putting  an  end  to  the 
great  crime  of  man  — the  long  practice  of  England 
to  enter  an  American  ship  and  impress  from  its  crew, 
terminated  for  ever  ; the  deck  henceforth  guarded 
sacredly  and  completely  by  the  flag  — how  much  by 
i:>rofound  discernment,  by  eloquent  speech,  by  devoted 
life  to  strengthen  the  ties  of  Union,  and  breathe  the 
fine  and  strong  spirit  of  nationality  through  all  our 
numbers — how  much,  most  of  all,  last  of  all,  after 
the  v/ar  with  Mexico,  needless  if  his  counsels  had 
governed,  had  ended  in  so  vast  an.  acquisition  of  ter- 
ritory, in  presenting  to  the  two  great  antagonistic 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


281 


sections  of  our  country  so  vast  an  area  to  enter  on, 
so  imperial  a prize  to  contend  for,  and  the  accursed 
fraternal  strife  had  begun  — how  much  then,  when 
rising  to  the  measure  of  a true  and  difficult  and  rare 
greatness,  remembering  that  he  had  a country  to  save 
as  well  as  a local  constituency  to  gratify,  laying  all 
the  wealth,  all  the  hopes,  of  an  illustrious  life  on  the 
altar  of  a hazardous  patriotism,  he  sought  and  won 
the  more  exceeding  glory  which  now  attends  — which 
in  the  next  age  shall  more  conspicuously  attend  — 
his  name  who  composes  an  agitated  and  saves  a sink- 
ing land  — recall  this  series  of  conduct  and  influ- 
ences, study  them  carefully  in  their  facts  and  results 
— the  reading  of  years  — and  you  attain  to  a true 
appreciation  of  this  aspect  of  his  greatness  — his 
public  character  and  life. 

For  such  a review  the  eulogy  of  an  hour  Las  no 
room.  Such  a task  demands  research,  details,  proofs, 
illustrations,  a long  labor,  — a volume  of  history, 
composed  according  to  her  severest  laws,  — setting 
down  nothing,  depreciating  nothing,  in  malignity  to 
the  dead ; suppressing  nothing,  and  falsifying  noth- 
ing, in  adulation  of  the  dead ; professing  fidelity  in- 
corrupt, unswerved  by  hatred  or  by  love,  yet  able  to 
measure,  able  to  glow  in  the  contemplation  of  a true 
greatness,  and  a vast  and  varied  and  useful  public  life  ; 
such  a history  as  the  genius  and  judgment  and  delicate 
private  and  public  morality  of  Everett,  assisted  by  his 
perfect  knowledge  of  the  facts,  — not  disqualified  by 
his  long  friendship,  unchilled  to  the  last  hour,  — such 
a history  as  he  might  construct. 

Two  or  three  suggestions,  occurring  on  the  most 
general  observation  of  this  aspect  of  his  eminence, 
you  will  tolerate  as  I leave  the  topic. 


282 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


Remark  how  very  large  a proportion  of  all  this 
class  of  his  acts  are  wholly  beyond  and  outside  of 
the  profession  of  the  law  ; demanding  studies,  expe- 
rience, a turn  of  mind,  a cast  of  qualities  and  charac- 
ter, such  as  that  profession  neither  gives  nor  exacts. 
Some  single  speeches  in  Congress,  of  consummate 
ability,  have  been  made  by  great  lawyers,  drawing 
for  the  purpose  only  on  the  learning,  accomplish- 
ments, logic,  and  eloquence  of  the  forum.  Such  was 
Chief  Justice,  then  Mr.  Marshall’s  argument  in  the 
case  of  Jonathan  Robbins,  — turning  on  the  inter- 
pretation of  a treaty,  and  the  constitutional  power 
of  the  executive  ; a demonstration,  if  there  is  any  in 
Euclid,  anticipating  the  masterly  judgments  in  the 
cause  of  Dartmouth  College,  or  of  Gibbons  and  Ogden, 
or  of  Maculloch  and  the  State  of  Maryland  ; but  such 
an  one  as  a lawyer  like  him  — if  another  there  was  — 
could  have  made,  in  his  professional  capacity,  at  the 
bar  of  the  House,  although  he  had  never  reflected  on 
practical  politics  an  hour  in  his  life.  Such,  some- 
what, was  William  Pinkney’s  speech  in  the  House  of 
Representatives,  on  the  treaty-making  power,  in  1815, 
and  his  two  more  splendid  displays  in  the  Senate,  on 
the  Missouri  question,  in  1820,  — the  last  of  which  I 
heard  Mr.  Clay  pronounce  the  greatest  he  ever  heard. 
They  were  pieces  of  legal  reasoning  on  questions  of 
constitutional  law,  decorated,  of  course,  by  a rhetoric 
wliich  Hortensius  might  have  envied,  and  Cicero 
would  not  have  despised  ; but  they  were  professional 
at  last.  To  some  extent  this  is  true  of  some  of  Mr. 
Webster’s  ablest  speeches  in  Congress;  or,  more 
accurately,  of  some  of  the  more  important  portions 
of  some  of  his  ablest.  I should  saj^  so  of  a part  of 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


283 


that  on  the  Panama  Mission ; of  the  reply  to  Mr. 
Hayne,  even ; and  of  almost  the  whole  of  that  reply 
to  Mr.  Calhoun  on  the  thesis,  “ the  Constitution  not 
a compact  between  sovereign  States ; ” the  whole 
series  of  discussion  of  the  constitutional  power  of  the 
executive,  and  the  constitutional  power  of  the  senate, 
growing  out  of  the  removal  of  the  deposits  and  the 
supposed  tendencies  of  our  system  towards  a central- 
ization of  government  in  a President,  and  a majority 
of  the  people,  — marked,  all  of  them,  by  amazing 
ability.  To  these  the  lawyer  who  could  demonstrate 
that  the  charter  of  this  College  is  a contract  within 
the  Constitution,  or  that  the  steamboat  monopoly 
usurped  upon  the  executed  power  of  Congress  to 
regulate  commerce,  was  already  equal ; but  to  have 
been  the  leader,  or  of  the  leaders,  of  his  political  con- 
nection for  thirty  years ; to  have  been  able  to  instruct 
and  guide  on  every  question  of  policy,  as  well  as  law, 
which  interested  the  nation  in  all  that  time  ; every 
question  of  finance,  of  currency,  of  the  lands,  of  the 
development  and  care  of  our  resources  and  labor ; to 
have  been  of  strength  to  help  to  lead  his  country  by 
the  hand  up  to  a position  of  influence  and  attraction 
on  the  highest  places  of  earth,  yet  to  keep  her  peace 
and  to  keep  her  honor  ; to  have  been  able  to  emulate 
the  prescriptive  and  awful  renown  of  the  founders  of 
States,  by  doing  something  which  will  be  admitted, 
when  some  generations  have  passed,  even  more  than 
now,  to  have  contributed  to  preserve  the  State,  — for 
all  this  another  man  was  needed,  and  he  stands  forth 
another  and  the  same. 

I am  hereafter  to  speak  separately  of  the  political 
morality  which  guided  him  ever  ; but  I would  say  a 


284 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


word  now  on  two  portions  of  his  public  life,  one  of 
which  has  been  the  subject  of  accusatory,  the  other 
of  disparaging,  criticism,  — unsound,  unkind,  in  both 
instances. 

The  first  comprises  his  course  in  regard  to  a pro- 
tective policy.  He  opposed  a tariff  of  protection,  it 
is  said,  in  1816  and  1820  and  1824  ; and  he  opposed, 
in  1828,  a sudden  and  fatal  repeal  of  such  a tariff ; 
and  thereupon  I have  seen  it  written  that  “ this 
proved  him  a man  with  no  great,  comprehensive  ideas 
of  political  economy ; who  took  the  fieeting  interests 
and  transient  opinions  of  the  hour  for  his  norms  of 
conduct ; ” “ who  had  no  sober  and  serious  convic- 
tions of  his  own.”  I have  seen  it  more  decorously 
written,  “ that  his  opinions  on  this  subject  were  not 
determined  by  general  principles,  but  by  a considera- 
tion of  immediate  sectional  interests.” 

I will  not  answer  this  by  what  Scaliger  says  of 
Lipsius,  the  arrogant  pedant,  who  dogmatized  on  the 
deeper  politics  as  he  did  on  the  text  of  Tacitus  and 
Seneca.  Neque  est  politieus  ; nec  potest  quicquam  in 
politid  ; nihil  possunt  pedantes  in  ipsis  rebus : nec  ego, 
nec  alius  doctus  possumus  scribere  in  politicis.  I say 
only  that  the  case  totally  fails  to  give  color  to  the 
charge.  The  reasonings  of  Mr.  Webster  in  1816, 
1820,  and  1824,  express  that,  on  mature  reflection 
and  due  and  appropriate  study,  he  had  embraced  the 
opinion  that  it  was  needless  and  unwise  to  force 
American  manufactures,  by  regulation,  prematurely 
to  life.  Bred  in  a commercial  community;  taught 
from  his  earliest  hours  of  thought  to  regard  the  care 
of  commerce  as,  in  point  of  fact,  a leading  object  and 
cause  of  the  Union ; to  observe  around  him  no  other 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


285 


forms  of  material  industry  than  those  of  commerce, 
navigation,  fisheries,  agriculture,  and  a few  plain  and 
robust  mechanical  arts,  he  would  come  to  the  study 
of  the  political  economy  of  the  subject  with  a certain 
preoccupation  of  mind,  perhaps ; so  coming,  he  did 
study  it  at  its  well-heads,  and  he  adopted  his  conclu- 
sions sincerely,  and  announced  them  strongly. 

His  opinions  were  overruled  by  Congress ; and  a 
national  policy  was  adopted,  holding  out  all  conceiv- 
able promises  of  permanence,  under  which  vast  and 
sensitive  investments  of  capital  were  made  ; the  ex- 
pectations, the  employments,  the  habits,  of  whole 
ranges  of  States  were  recast ; and  industry,  new  to 
us,  springing,  immature,  had  been  advanced  just  so 
far  that,  if  deserted  at  that  moment,  there  must  fol- 
low a squandering  of  skill,  a squandering  of  property, 
an  aggregate  of  destruction,  senseless,  needless,  and 
unconscientious,  — such  as  marks  the  worst  form  of 
revolution.  On  these  facts,  at  a later  day,  he  thought 
that  that  industry,  the  child  of  government,  should 
not  thus  capriciously  be  deserted.  “ The  duty  of 
the  government,”  he  said,  “ at  the  present  moment 
would  seem  to  be  to  preserve,  not  to  destroy  ; to  main- 
tain the  position  which  it  has  assumed  ; and,  for  one, 
I shall  feel  it  an  indispensable  obligation  to  hold  it 
stead)^  as  far  as  in  my  power,  to  that  degree  of  pro- 
tection which  it  has  undertaken  to  bestow.” 

And  does  this  prove  that  these  original  opinions 
were  hasty,  shallow,  insincere,  unstudied?  Consist- 
ently with  every  one  of  them  ; consistently  with  the 
true  spirit  and  all  the  aims  of  the  science  of  political 
economy  itself ; consistently  with  every  duty  of  sober, 
high,  earnest,  and  moral  statesmanship,  might  not  he 


286 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


who  resisted  the  making  of  a tariff  in  1816  deprecate 
its  abandonment  in  1828  ? Does  not  Adam  Smith 
himself  admit  that  it  is  “ matter  fit  for  deliberation 
how  far,  or  in  what  manner,  it  may  be  proper  to  re- 
store that  free  importation  after  it  has  been  for  some 
time  interrupted  ” ? implying  that  a general  principle 
of  national  wealth  may  be  displaced  or  modified  by 
special  circumstances ; but  would  these  censors, 
therefore,  cry  out  that  he  had  no  “ great  and  com- 
prehensive ideas  of  political  economy,”  and  was  will- 
ing to  be  “ determined,  not  by  general  principles, 
but  by  immediate  interests  ” ? Because  a father 
advises  his  son  against  an  early  and  injudicious  mar- 
riage, does  it  logically  follow,  or  is  it  ethically  right, 
that,  after  his  advice  has  been  disregarded,  he  is  to 
recommend  desertion  of  the  young  wife  and  the  young 
child  ? I do  not  appreciate  the  beauty  and  “ compre- 
hensiveness” of  those  scientific  ideas  which  forget 
that  the  actual  and  vast  “interests”  of  the  com- 
munity are  exactly  what  the  legislator  has  to  pro- 
tect ; that  the  concrete  of  things  must  limit  the 
foolish  wantonness  of  a priori  theory ; that  that  de- 
partment of  politics  which  has  for  its  object  the  pro- 
motion and  distribution  of  the  wealth  of  nations  may 
very  consistently  and  very  scientifically  preserve  what 
it  would  not  have  created.  He  who  accuses  Mr.  Web- 
ster in  this  behalf  of  “ having  no  sober  and  serious 
convictions  of  his  own  ” must  afford  some  other  proof 
than  his  opposition  to  the  introduction  of  a policy, 
and  then  his  willingness  to  protect  it  after  it  had  been 
introduced,  and  five  hundred  millions  of  property,  or, 
however,  a countless  sum,  had  , been  invested  under 
it,  or  become  dependent  on  its  continuance. 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


237 


I should  not  think  that  I consulted  his  true  fame, 
if  I did  not  add  that  as  he  came  to  observe  the  prac- 
tical workings  of  the  protective  policy  more  closely 
than  at  first  he  had  done  ; as  he  came  to  observe  the 
working  and  influences  of  a various  manufacturing 
and  mechanical  labor ; to  see  how  it  employs  and 
develops  every  faculty  ; finds  occupation  for  every 
hour ; creates  or  diffuses  and  disciplines  ingenuity, 
gathering  up  every  fragment  of  mind  and  time  so  that 
nothing  be  lost ; how  a steady  and  ample  home  mar- 
ket assists  agriculture ; how  all  the  great  employ- 
ments of  man  are  connected  by  a kindred  tie,  so  that 
the  tilling  of  the  land,  navigation,  foreign,  coastwise, 
and  interior  commerce,  all  grow  with  the  growth,  and 
strengthen  with  the  strength  of  the  industry  of  the  arts, 
— he  came  to  appreciate,  more  adequately  than  at  first, 
how  this  form  of  labor  contributes  to  wealth,  power, 
enjoyment,  a great  civilization  ; he  came  more  justly 
to  grasp  the  conception  of  how  consummate  a destruc- 
tion it  would  cause  — how  senseless,  how  unphilo- 
sophical,  how  immoral  — to  arrest  it  suddenly  and 
capriciously  — after  it  had  been  lured  into  life  ; how 
wiser,  how  far  truer  to  the  principles  of  the  science 
which  seeks  to  augment  the  wealth  of  the  State,  to 
refuse  to  destroy  so  immense  an  accumulation  of  that 
wealth  ! In  this  sense,  and  in  this  way,  I believe  his 
opinions  were  matured  and  modified  ; but  it  does  not 
quite  follow  that  they  were  not,  in  every  period,  con- 
scientiously formed  and  held,  or  that  they  were  not 
in  the  actual  circumstances  of  each  period  philosoph- 
ically just,  and  practically  wise. 

The  other  act  of  his  public  life  to  which  I alluded 
is  his  negotiation  of  the  Treaty  of  Washington,  in 


288 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 


1842,  with  Great  Britain.  This  act,  the  country,  the 
world,  has  judged,  and  has  applauded.  Of  his  ad- 
ministrative ability,  his  discretion,  temper,  civil  cour- 
age, his  power  of  exacting  respect  and  confidence 
from  those  with  whom  he  communicated,  and  of  influ- 
encing their  reason  ; his  knowledge  of  the  true  inter- 
ests and  true  grandeur  of  the  two  great  parties  to  the 
negotiation  ; of  the  States  of  the  Union  more  imme- 
diately concerned,  and  of  the  world  whose  chief  con- 
cern is  peace  ; and  of  the  intrepidity  with  which  he 
encountered  the  disappointed  feelings,  and  disparag- 
ing criticisms  of  the  hour,  in  the  consciousness  that 
he  had  done  a good  and  large  deed,  and  earned  a 
permanent  and  honest  renown  — of  these  it  is  the 
truest  and  most  fortunate  single  exemplification  which 
remains  of  him.  Concerning  its  difficulty,  impor- 
tance, and  merits  of  all  sorts,  there  were  at  the  time 
few  dissenting  opinions  among  those  most  conversant 
with  the  subject,  although  there  were  some ; to-day 
there  are  fewer  still.  They  are  so  few  — a single 
sneer  by  the  side  of  his  grave,  expressing  that  “ a 
man  who  makes  such  a bargain  is  not  entitled  to  any 
great  glory  among  diplomatists,”  is  all  that  I can  call 
to  mind  — that  I will  not  arrest  the  course  of  your 
feelings  here  and  now  by  attempting  to  refute  that 
“ sneer  ” out  of  the  history  of  the  hour  and  scene. 
“Standing  here,”  he  said,  in  April,  1846,  in  the  Sen- 
ate of  the  United  States,  to  which  he  had  returned  — 
“ standing  here  to-day,  in  this  Senate,  and  speaking 
in  behalf  of  the  administration  of  which  I formed  a 
part,  and  in  behalf  of  the  two  houses  of  Congress 
who  sustained  that  administration,  cordially  and 
effectively,  in  every  thing  relating  to  this  treaty,  I am 


EULOGY  OY  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


289 


^^-illing  to  appeal  to  the  public  men  of  the  age,  whether 
in  1842,  and  in  the  city  of  Washington,  something  was 
not  done  for  the  suppression  of  crime ; for  the  true 
exposition  of  the  principles  of  public  law ; for  the 
freedom  and  security  of  commerce  on  the  ocean,  and 
for  the  peace  of  the  world  ! ” In  that  forum  the 
appeal  has  been  heard,  and  the  praise  of  a diplomatic 
achievement  of  true  and  permanent  glory,  has  been 
irreversibly  awarded  to  him.  Beyond  that  forum  of 
the  mere  “public  men  of  the  age,”  by  the  larger 
jurisdiction,  the  general  public,  the  same  praise  has 
been  awarded.  Sunt  Me  etiam  sua  preemia  laudL 
That  which  I had  the  honor  to  say  in  the  Senate,  in 
the  session  of  1843,  in  a discussion  concerning  this 
treaty,  is  true  and  applicable,  now  as  then.  “ Why 
should  I,  or  why  should  any  one,  assume  the  defence 
of  a treaty  here  in  this  body,  which  but  just  now,  on 
the  amplest  consideration,  in  the  confidence  and  calm- 
ness of  executive  session,  was  approved  by  a vote  so 
decisive  ? Sir,  the  country,  by  a vote  far  more  deci- 
sive, in  a proportion  very  far  beyond  thirty-nine  to 
nine,  has  approved  your  approval.  Some  there  are, 
some  few — I speak  not  now  of  any  member  of  this 
Senate  — restless,  selfish,  reckless,  ‘ the  cankers  of  a 
calm  world  and  a long  peace,’  pining  with  thirst  of 
notoriety,  slaves  to  their  hatred  of  England,  to  whom 
the  treaty  is  distasteful ; to  whom  any  treaty,  and  all 
things  but  the  glare  and  clamor,  the  vain  pomp  and 
hollow  circumstance  of  war  — all  but  these  would  be 
distasteful  and  dreary.  But  the  country  is  with  you 
in  this  act  of  wisdom  and  glory ; its  intelligence  : its 
morality;  its  labor;  its  good  men;  the -thoughtful ; 
the  philanthropic  ; the  discreet ; the  masses,  are  with 

19 


290 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  Y'EBSTEK. 


3"Ou.”  “ It  confirms  the  purpose  of  the  wise  and  good 
of  both  nations  to  be  for  ever  at  peace  with  one  an> 
other,  and  to  put  away  for  ever  all  war  from  the  kin- 
dred races  : war  the  most  ridiculous  of  blunders  ; the 
most  tremendous  of  crimes  ; the  most  comprehensive 
of  evils.” 

And  now  to  him  who  in  the  solitude  of  his  library 
depreciates  this  act,  first,  because  there  was  no  danger 
of  a war  with  England,  I answer  that  according  to 
the  overwhelming  weight  of  that  kind  of  evidence  by 
which  that  kind  of  question  must  be  tried,  that  is, 
by  the  judgment  of  the  great  body  of  well-informed 
public  men  at  that  moment  in  Congress  ; in  the  gov- 
ernment ; in  diplomatic  situation  — our  relations  to 
that  power  had  become  so  delicate,  and  so  urgent, 
that,  unless  soon  adjusted  by  negotiation,  there  was 
real  danger  of  war.  Against  such  evidence,  what  is 
the  value  of  the  speculation  of  a private  person,  ten 
3'ears  afterwards,  in  the  shade  of  his  general  studies, 
whatever  his  sagacity  ? The  temper  of  the  border 
population ; the  tendencies  to  disorder  in  Canada, 
stimulated  by  sympathizers  on  our  side  of  the  line  ; 
the  entrance  on  our  territory  of  a British  armed  force 
in  1837  ; cutting  The  Caroline  out  of  her  harbor,  and 
sending  her  down  the  falls  ; the  arrest  of  McLeod  in 
1841,  a British  subject,  composing  part  of  that  force, 
by  the  government  of  New  York,  and  the  threat  to 
hang  him,  which  a person  high  in  office  in  England 
declared,  in  a letter  which  was  shown  to  me,  would 
raise  a cry  for  war  from  “ whig,  radical,  and  tory  ” 
which  no  ministry  could  resist ; growing  irritation 
caused  by  the  search  of  our  vessels  under  color  of 
suppressing  the  slave-trade ; the  long  controversy, 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


291 


almost  as  old  as  the  government,  about  the  boundary 
line  — so  conducted  as  to  have  at  last  convinced  each 
disputant  that  the  other  was  fraudulent  and  insin- 
cere ; as  to  have  enlisted  the  pride  of  States  ; as  to 
have  exasperated  and  agitated  a large  line  of  border  ; 
as  to  have  entered  finally  into  the  tactics  of  political 
parties,  and  the  schemes  of  ambitious  men,  out-bid- 
ding, out-racing  one  another  in  a competition  of  clamor 
and  vehemence  ; a controversy  on  which  England,  a 
European  monarchy,  a first-class  power,  near  to  the 
great  sources  of  the  opinion  of  the  world,  by  her 
press,  her  diplomacy,  her  universal  intercourse,  had 
taken  great  pains  to  persuade  Europe  that  our  claim 
was  groundless  and  unconscientious,  — all  these 
things  announced  to  near  observers  in  public  life  a 
crisis  at  hand  which  demanded  something  more  than 
“ any  sensible  and  honest  man  ” to  encounter ; assur- 
ing some  glory  to  him  who  should  triumph  over  it. 
One  such  observer  said,  “ Men  stood  facing  each  other 
with  guns  on  their  shoulders,  upon  opposite  sides  of 
fordable  rivers,  thirty  yards  wide.  The  discharge  of 
a single  musket  would  have  brought  on  a war  whose 
fires  would  have  encircled  the  globe.” 

Is  this  act  disparaged  next  because  what  each  party 
had  for  sixty  years  claimed  as  the  true, line  of  the  old 
treaty  was  waived,  a line  of  agreement  substituted, 
and  eqiiivalents  given  and  taken  for  gain  or  loss? 
But  herein  you  will  see  only,  what  the  nation  has 
seen,  the  boldness  as  well  as  sagacity  of  Mr.  Web- 
ster. When  the  award  of  the  king  of  the  Nether- 
lands, proposing  a line  of  agreement,  was  offered  to 
President  Jackson,  that  strong  will  dared  not  accept 
it  in  the  face  of  the  party  politics  of  Maine  — al- 


292 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


though  he  advised  to  offer  her  the  value  of  a million 
of  dollars  to  procure  her  assent  to  an  adjustment 
which  his  own  mind  approved.  What  he  dared  not 
do  inferred  some  peril,  I suppose.  Yet  the  experi- 
ence of  twenty  years  — of  sixty  years  — should  have 
taught  all  men  — had  taught  many  Avho  shrank  from 
acting  on  it,  that  the  Gordian  knot  must  be  cut,  not 
unloosed ; that  all  further  attempt  to  find  the  true 
line  must  be  abandoned  as  an  idle  and  perilous  diplo- 
macy ; and  that  a boundary  must  be  made  by  a bar- 
gain worthy  of  nations,  or  must  be  traced  bj^  the 
point  of  the  bayonet.  The  merit  of  Mr.  W^ebster  is, 
first,  that  he  dared  to  open  the  negotiation  on  this 
basis.  I say  the  boldness.  For  appreciate  the  do- 
mestic difficulties  which  attended  it.  In  its  nature  it 
proposed  to  give  up  something  which  we  had  thought 
our  own  for  half  a century ; to  cede  of  the  territory 
of  more  than  one  State  ; it  demanded,  therefore,  the 
assent  of  those  States  by  formal  act,  committing  the 
State  parties  in  power  unequivocally ; it  was  to  be 
undertaken  not  in  the  administration  of  Monroe,  — 
elected  by  the  whole  people,  — not  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  Jackson,  whose  vast  popularity  could  carry 
any  thing,  and  withstand  any  thing  ; but  just  when 
the  death  of  President  Harrison  had  scattered  his 
party;  had  alienated  hearts;  had  severed  ties  and 
dissolved  connections  indispensable  to  the  strength 
of  administration,  creating  a loud  call  on  Mr.  Web- 
ster to  leave  the  Cabinet,  — creating  almost  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  unwillingness  that  he  should  contribute 
to  its  glory  even  by  largest  service  to  the  State. 

Yet  consider  finally  how  he  surmounted  every  dif- 
ficulty. I will  not  say  with  Lord  Palmerston,  in 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 


293 


parliament,  that  there  was  “ nobody  in  England  who 
did  not  admit  it  a very  bad  treaty  for  England.” 
But  I may  repeat  what  I said  on  it  in  th-e  senate  in 
1843.  “And,  now,  what  does  the  world  see?  An 
adjustment  concluded  by  a special  minister  at  Wash- 
ington, by  which  four  fifths  of  the  value  of  the  whole 
subject  in  controversy  is  left  to  you  as  your  own ; 
and  by  which,  for  that  one  fifth  which  England 
desires  to  possess,  she  pays  you  over  and  over,  in 
national  equivalents,  imperial  equivalents,  such  as  a 
nation  may  give,  such  as  a nation  may  accept,  satis- 
factory to  your  interests,  soothing  to  your  honor,  — ■ 
the  navigation  of  the  St.  John,  — a concession  the 
value  of  which  nobody  disputes,  — a concession  not 
to  Maine  alone,  but  to  the  whole  country,  — to  com- 
merce, to  navigation,  as  far  as  winds  blow  or  waters 
roll,  — an  equivalent  of  inappreciable  value,  opening 
an  ample  path  to  the  sea,  — an  equivalent  in  part 
for  what  she  receives  of  the  territory  in  dispute,  — 
a hundred  thousand  acres  in  New  Hampshire  ; fifty 
thousand  acres  in  Vermont  and  New  York ; the  point 
of  land  commanding  the  great  military  way  to  and 
from  Canada  by  Lake  Champlain  ; the  fair  and  fertile 
island  of  St.  George  ; the  surrender  of  a pertinacious 
pretension  to  four  millions  of  acres  westward  of  Lake 
Superior.  Sir,  I will  not  say  that  this  adjustment 
admits,  or  was  designed  to  admit,  that  our  title  to 
the  whole  territory  in  controversy  was  perfect  and 
indisputable.  I will  not  do  so  much  injustice  to  the 
accomplished  and  excellent  person  who  represented 
the  moderation  and  the  good  sense  of  the  English 
Government  and  people  in  this  negotiation.  I can- 
not adopt,  even  for  the  defence  of  a treaty  which  I 


294 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


SO  much  approve,  the  language  of  a writer  in  the 
‘London  Morning  Chronicle’  of  September  last, — 
who  has  been  said  to  be  Lord  Palmerston,  — which 
over  and  over  asserts,  substantially  as  his  lordship 
certainly  did  in  parliament,  that  the  adjustment  ‘ vir- 
tually acknowledges  the  American  claim  to  the  whole 
of  the  disputed  territory,’  and  that  ‘ it  gives  England 
no  share  at  all,  — absolutely  none ; for  the  capitula- 
tion virtually  and  practically  yields  up  the  whole 
territory  to  the  United  States,  and  then  brings  back 
a small  part  of  it  in  exchange  for  the  right  of  navi- 
gating the  St.  John.’  I will  not  say  this.  But  I say 
first,  that  by  concession  of  everybody  it  is  a better 
treaty  than  the  administration  of  President  Jackson 
would  have  most  eagerly  concluded,  if  by  the  offer  of 
a million  and  a quarter  acres  of  land  they  could  have 
procured  the  assent  of  Maine  to  it.  That  treaty  she 
rejected ; this  she  accepts ; and  I disparage  nobody 
when  I maintain  that  on  all  parts  and  all  aspects  of 
this  question,  — national  or  state,  military  or  indus- 
trial, — her  opinion  is  worth  that  of  the  whole  coun- 
try beside.  I say  next  that  the  treaty  admits  the 
substantial  justice  of  your  general  claim.  It  admits 
that  in  its  utmost  extent  it  was  plausible,  formidable, 
and  made  in  pure  good  faith.  It  admits  before  the 
nations  that  we  have  not  been  rapacious  ; have  not 
made  false  clamor ; that  we  have  asserted  oar  own, 
and  obtained  our  own.  Adjudging  to  you  the  pos- 
session of  four  fifths  indisputably,  she  gives  you  for 
the  one  fifth  which  you  concede  equivalents,  — given 
as  equivalents  — eo  nomine, — on  purpose  to  soothe 
and  save  the  point  of  honor ; whose  intrinsical  and 
comparative  value  is  such  that  you  may  accept  them 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


295 


as  equivalents  without  reproach  to  your  judgment,  or 
your  firmness,  or  your  good  faith,  — whose  intrinsical 
and  comparative  value,  tried  by  the  maxims,  weighed 
in  the  scales  of  imperial  traffic,  make  them  a compen- 
sation over  and  over  again  for  all  we  concede.” 

But  I linger  too  long  upon  his  public  life,  and 
upon  this  one  of  its  great  acts.  With  what  profound 
conviction  of  all  the  difficulties  which  beset  it ; with 
what  anxieties  for  the  issue,  hope  and  fear  alternately 
preponderating,  he  entered  on  that  extreme  trial  of 
capacity  and  good  fortune,  and  carried  it  through, 
I shall  not  soon  forget.  As  if  it  were  last  night,  I 
recall  the  time  when,  after  the  senate  had  ratified  it 
in  an  evening  executive  session  — by  a vote  of  thirty- 
nine  to  nine  — I personally  carried  to  him  the  result, 
at  his  own  house,  and  in  presence  of  his  wife.  Then, 
indeed,  the  measure  of  his  glory  and  happiness  seemed 
full.  In  the  exuberant  language  of  Burke,  “ I stood 
near  him ; and  his  face,  to  use  the  expression  of  the 
Scripture  of  the  first  martyr,  was  as  if  it  had  been 
the  face  of  an  angel.  ‘ Hope  elevated,  and  joy  bright- 
ened his  crest.’  I do  not  know  how  others  feel ; but 
if  I had  stood  in  that  situation,  I would  not  have  ex- 
changed it  for  all  that  kings  or  people  could  bestow.” 

Such  eminence  and  such  hold  on  the  public  mind  as 
he  attained  demands  extraordinary  general  intellectual 
power,  adequate  mental  culture,  an  impressive,  attrac- 
tive, energetic,  and  great  character,  and  extraordinary 
specific  power  also  of  influencing  the  convictions  and 
actions  of  others  by  speech.  These  all  he  had. 

That  in  the  quality  of  pure  and  sheer  power  of 
intellect  he  was  of  the  first  class  of  men  is,  I think, 
the  universal  judgment  of  all  who  have  personally 


296 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


witnessed  many  of  his  higher  displays,  and  of  all  who 
witiiout  that  opportunity  have  studied  his  life  in  its 
actions  and  influences,  and  studied  his  mind  in  its 
recorded  thoughts.  Sometimes  it  has  seemed  to  me 
that  to  enable  one  to  appreciate  with  accuracy,  as  a 
psjmhological  speculation,  the  intrinsic  and  absolute 
volume  and  texture  of  that  brain,  — the  real  rate  and 
measure  of  those  abilities,  — it  was  better  not  to  see 
or  hear  him,  unless  you  could  see  or  hear  him  fre- 
quently, and  in  various  modes  of  exhibition  ; for 
undoubtedly  there  was  something  in  his  countenance 
and  bearing  so  expressive  of  command,  — something 
even  in  his  conversational  language  when  saying, 
farva  summisse  et  modica  temperate^  so  exquisitely 
plausible,  embodying  the  likeness  at  least  of  a rich 
truth,  the  forms  at  least  of  a large  generalization,  in 
an  epithet,  — an  antithesis,  — a pointed  phrase,  — a 
broad  and  peremptory  thesis,  — and  something  in  his 
grander  forth-putting,  when  roused  by  a great  sub- 
ject or  occasion  exciting  his  reason  and  touching  his 
moral  sentiments  and  his  heart,  so  difficult  to  be  re- 
sisted, approaching  so  near,  going  so  far  beyond,  the 
higher  style  of  man  ; that  although  it  left  you  a very 
good  witness  of  his  power  of  influencing  others,  you 
were  not  in  the  best  condition  immediately  to  pro- 
nounce on  the  quality  or  the  source  of  the  influence. 
You  saw  the  flash  and  heard  the  peal,  and  felt  the 
admiration  and  fear  ; but  from  what  region  it  was 
launched,  and  by  what  divinity,  and  from  what 
Olympian  seat,  you  could  not  certainly  yet  tell.  To 
do  that  you  inust,  if  you  saw  him  at  all,  see  him 
many  times  ; compare  him  with  himself,  and  with 
others ; follow  his  dazzling  career  from  his  father’s 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


297 


house  ; observe  from  what  competitors  he  won  those 
laurels ; study  his  discourses,  — study  them  by  the 
side  of  those  of  other  great  men  of  this  country  and 
time,  and  of  other  countries  and  times,  conspicuous 
in  the  same  fields  of  mental  achievement,  — look 
through  the  crystal  water  of  the  style  down  to  the 
golden  sands  of  the  thought;  analyze  and  contrast 
intellectual  power  somewhat;  consider  what  kind 
and  what  quantity  of  it  has  been  held  by  students  of 
mind  needful  in  order  to  great  eminence  in  the  higher 
mathematics,  or  metaphysics,  or  reason  of  the  law  ; 
what  capacity  to  analyze,  through  and  through,  to 
the  primordial  elements  of  the  truths  of  that  sci- 
ence ; yet  wdiat  wisdom  and  sobriety,  in  order  to  con- 
trol the  wantonness  and  shun  the  absurdities  of  a 
mere  scholastic  logic,  by  systematizing  ideas,  and 
combining  them,  and  repressing  one  by  another,  thus 
producing  — not  a collection  of  intense  and  conflict- 
ing paradoxes,  but  — a code  — scientifically  coherent 
and  practically  useful,  — consider  what  description 
and  what  quantity  of  mind  have  been  held  needful 
by  students  of  mind  in  order  to  conspicuous  emi- 
nence— long  maintained  — in  statesmanship;  that 
great  practical  science,  that  great  philosophical  art, 
whose  ends  are  the  existence,  happiness,  and  honor 
of  a nation  ; whose  truths  are  to  be  drawn  from  the 
widest  survey  of  man,  — of  social  man,  — of  the  par- 
ticular race  and  particular  community  for  which  a 
government  is  to  be  made  or  kept,  or  a policy  to  be 
provided ; “ philosophy  in  action,”  demanding  at 
once  or  affording  place  for  the  highest  speculative 
genius  and  the  most  skilful  conduct  of  men  and  of 
affairs ; and  finally  consider  what  degree  and  kind  of 


298 


EULOGY  UN  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


mental  power  lias  been  found  to  be  required  in  order 
to  influence  the  reason  of  an  audience  and  a nation 
by  speech,  — not  magnetizing  the  mere  nervous  or 
emotional  nature  by  an  effort  of  that  nature,  — but 
operating  on  reason  by  reason  — a great  reputation 
in  forensic  and  deliberative  eloquence,  maintained 
and  advancing  for  a lifetime,  — it  is  thus  that  we 
come  to  be  sure  that  his  intellectual  power  was  as 
real  and  as  uniform  as  its  very  happiest  particular 
display  had  been  imposing  and  remarkable. 

It  was  not  quite  so  easy  to  analyze  that  power,  to 
compare  or  contrast  it  with  that  of  other  mental  ce- 
lebrities, and  show  how  it  differed  or  resembled,  as  it 
was  to  discern  its  existence. 

Whether  he  would  have  excelled  as  much  in  other 
fields  of  exertion  — in  speculative  philosophy,  for  ex- 
ample, in  any  of  its  departments  — is  a problem  impos- 
sible to  determine  and  needless  to  move.  To  me  it 
seems  quite  clear  that  the  whole  wealth  of  his  powers, 
his  whole  emotional  nature,  his  eloquent  feeling,  his 
matcliless  capacity  to  affect  others’  conduct  by  affecting 
their  practical  judgments,  could  not  have  been  known, 
could  not  have  been  poured  forth  in  a stream  so  rich 
and  strong  and  full,  could  not  have  so  reacted  on  and 
aided  and  winged  the  mighty  intelligence,  in  any  other 
walk  of  mind,  or  life,  than  that  he  chose  ; that  in  any 
other  there  must  have  been  some  disjoining  of  qualities 
which  God  had  united,  — some  divorce  of  pure  intel- 
lect from  the  helps  or  hindrances  or  companionship  of 
common  sense  and  beautiful  genius ; and  that  in  any 
field  of  speculative  ideas,  but  half  of  him,  or  part  of 
him,  could  have  found  its  sphere.  What  that  part 
might  have  been  or  done,  it  is  vain  to  inquire. 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


299 


I have  been  told  that  the  assertion  has  been  haz- 
arded that  he  “ was  great  in  understanding  ; deficient 
in  the  large  reason;”  and  to  prove  this  distinction 
he  is  compared  disadvantageously  with  “ Socrates  ; 
Aristotle  ; Plato  ; Leibnitz  ; Newton  ; and  Descartes.” 
If  tins  means  that  he  did  not  devote  his  mind,  such 
as  it  was,  to  their  speculations,  it  is  true  ; hut  that 
would  not  prove  that  he  had  not  as  much  “ higher 
reason.”  Where  was  Bacon’s  higher  reason  when  he 
was  composing  his  reading  on  the  Statute  of  Uses  ? 
Had  he  lost  it  ? or  was  he  only  not  employing  it  ? or 
was  he  employing  it  on  an  investigation  of  law  ? If 
it  means  that  he  had  not  as  much  absolute  intellectual 
power  as  they,  or  could  not,  in  their  departments, 
have  done  what  they  did,  it  may  be  dismissed  as  a 
dogma  incapable  of  proof  and  incapable  of  refuta- 
tion ; ineffectual  as  a disparagement ; unphUosophical 
as  a comparison. 

It  is  too  common  with  those  who  come  from  the 
reveries  of  a cloistered  speculation  to  judge  a practi- 
cal life,  to  say  of  him,  and  such  as  he,  that  they  “ do 
not  enlarge  universal  law,  and  first  principles ; and 
philosophical  ideas  ; ” that  “ the}^  add  no  new  maxim 
formed  by  induction  out  of  human  history  and  old 
thought.”  In  this  there  is  some  truth ; and  yet  it 
totally  fails  to  prove  that  they  do  not  possess  all  the 
intellectual  power,  and  all  the  specific  form  of  intel- 
lectual power,  required  for  such  a description  of 
achievement ; and  it  totally  fails,  too,  to  prove  that 
they  do  not  use  it  quite  as  truly  to  “ the  glory  of 
God,  and  the  bettering  of  man’s  estate.”  Whether 
they  possess  such  power  or  not,  the  evidence  does  not 
disprove  ; and  it  is  a pedantic  dogmatism,  if  it  is  not 


300 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 


a malignant  dogmatism,  which,  from  such  evidence, 
pronounces  that  they  do  not ; but  it  is  doubtless  so, 
that  by  an  original  bias,  by  accidental  circumstances 
or  deliberate  choice,  he  determined  early  to  devote 
himself  to  a practical  and  great  duty,  and  that  was 
to  uphold  a recent,  delicate,  and  complex  political 
system,  which  his  studies,  his  sagacity,  taught  him, 
as  Solon  learned,  was  the  best  the  people  could  bear  ; 
to  uphold  it ; to  adapt  its  essential  principles  and  its 
actual  organism  to  the  great  changes  of  his  time  ; the 
enlarging  territory  ; enlarging  numbers  ; sharper  an- 
tagonisms ; mightier  passions ; a new  nationality ; 
and  under  it,  and  by  means  of  it,  and  by  a steady 
government,  a wise  policy  of  business,  a temperate 
conduct  of  foreign  relations,  to  enable  a people  to 
develop  their  resources,  and  fulfil  their  mission.  This 
he  selected  as  his  work  on  earth  ; this  his  task  ; this, 
if  well  done,  his  consolation,  his  joy,  his  triumph  ! 
To  this,  call  it,  in  comparison  with  the  meditations  of 
philosophy,  humble  or  high,  he  brought  all  the  vast 
gifts  of  intellect,  whatever  they  were,  wherewith  God 
had  enriched  him.  And  now,  do  they  infer  that, 
because  he  selected  such  a work  to  do  he  could  not 
have  possessed  the  higher  form  of  intellectual  power  ; 
or  do  they  say  that,  because,  having  selected  it,  he 
performed  it  with  a masterly  and  uniform  sagacity 
and  prudence  and  good  sense,  using  ever  the  appro- 
priate means  to  the  selected  end  ; that  therefore  he 
could  not  have  possessed  the  higher  form  of  intellectual 
power  ? Because  all  his  life  long  he  recognized  that 
his  vocation  was  that  of  a statesman  and  a jurist,  not 
that  of  a thinker  and  dreamer  in  the  shade,  still  less 
of  a general  agitator  ; that  his  duties  connected  them- 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


301 


selves  mainly  with  an  existing  stupendous  political 
order  of  things,  to  be  kept  — to  be  adapted  with  all 
possible  civil  discretion  and  temper  to  the  growth  of 
the  nation  — but  by  no  means  to  be  exchanged  for 
any  quantity  of  amorphous  matter  in  the  form  of 
“ universal  law  ” or  new  maxims  and  great  ideas  born 
since  the  last  change  of  the  moon  — because  he  quite 
habitually  spoke  the  language  of  the  Constitution 
and  the  law,  not  the  phraseology  of  a new  philoso- 
phy ; confining  himself  very  much  to  inculcating 
historical,  traditional,  and  indispensable  maxims,  — ■ 
neutrality ; justice ; good  faith ; observance  of  fun- 
damental compacts  of  Union  and  the  like  — because 
it  was  America  — our  America  — he  sought  to  pre- 
serve, and  to  set  forward  to  her  glory  — not  so  much 
an  abstract  conception  of  humanity  — because  he 
could  combine  many  ideas  ; many  elements ; many 
antagonisms ; in  a harmonious,  and  noble  practical 
politics,  instead  of  fastening  on  one  only,  and  — that 
sure  sign  of  small  or  perverted  ability  — aggravating 
it  to  disease  and  falsehood,  — is  it  therefore  inferred 
that  he  had  not  the  larger  form  of  intellectual  power  ? 

And  this  power  was  not  oppressed,  but  aided  and 
accomplished  by  exercise  the  most  constant,  the  most 
severe,  the  most  stimulant,  and  by  a force  of  will  as 
remarkable  as  his  genius,  and  by  adequate  mental 
and  tasteful  culture.  How  much  the  eminent  great- 
ness it  reached  is  due  to  the  various  and  lofty  compe- 
tition to  which  he  brought,  if  he  could,  the  most 
careful  preparation — competition  with  adversaries 
cum  quilus  certare  erat  gloriosius^  quam  omnino  adver- 
sarios  non  habere,  cum  prcesertim  non  modo,  nunquarn 
sit  aut  illorum  ad  ipso  cursus  impeditus,  aut  ah  ipsis 


B02 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


suus,  sed  contra  semper  alter  ah  altero  adjutus,  et  corn- 
munieando,  et  monendo,  et  favendo^  you  may  ■well  ap- 
preciate. 

I claim  much,  too,  under  the  name  of  mere  mental 
culture.  Remark  his  style.  I allow  its  full  weight 
to  the  Horatian  maxim,  scrihendi  recte  sapere  est  et 
principium  et  fons^  and  I admit  that  he  had  deep  and 
exquisite  judgment,  largely  of  the  gift  of  God.  But 
such  a style  as  his  is  due  also  to  art,  to  practice,  — in 
the  matter  of  style,  incessant,  — to  great  examples 
of  fine  writing,  turned  by  the  nightly  and  the  daily 
hand  ; to  Cicero,  through  whose  pellucid,  deep  seas 
the  pearl  shows  distinct  and  large  and  near,  as  if 
within  the  arm’s  reach  ; to  Virgil,  whose  magic  of 
words,  whose  exquisite  structure  and  “ rich  economy 
of  expression,”  no  other  writer  ever  equalled  ; to  our 
English  Bible,  and  especially  to  the  prophetical  writ- 
ings, and  of  these  especially  to  Ezekiel,  of  some  of 
whose  peculiarities,  and  among  them  that  of  the  repe- 
tition of  single  words  or  phrases,  for  emphasis  and 
impression,  a friend  has  called  my  attention  to  some 
very  striking  illustrations ; to  Shakspeare,  of  the  style 
of  whose  comic  dialogue  we  may,  in  the  language  of 
the  great  critic,  assert  “ that  it  is  that  which  in  the 
English  nation  is  never  to  become  obsolete,  a certain 
mode  of  phraseology  so  consonant  and  congenial  to 
analogy,  to  principles  of  the  language,  as  to  remain 
settled  and  unaltered,  — a style  above  grossness, 
below  modish  and  pedantic  forms  of  speech,  where 
propriety  resides  ; ” to  Addison,  whom  Johnson,  Mack- 
intosh, and  Macaulay  concur  to  put  at  the  head  of 
all  fine  •writers,  for  the  amenity,  delicacy,  and  un- 
ostentatious elegance  of  his  English ; to  Pope,  pol- 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


303 


ished,  condensed,  sententious  ; to  Johnson  and  Burke, 
in  whom  all  the  affluence  and  all  the  energy  of  our 
tongue,  in  both  its  great  elements  of  Saxon  and  Latin, 
might  be  exemplified ; to  the  study  and  comparison, 
but  not  the  copying,  of  authors  such  as  these  ; to 
habits  of  writing  and  speaking  and  conversing  on 
the  capital  theory  of  always  doing  his  best,  — thus, 
somewhat,  I think,  was  acquired  that  remarkable 
production,  “ the  last  work  of  combined  study  and 
genius,”  his  rich,  clear,  correct,  harmonious,  and 
weighty  style  of  prose. 

Beyond  these  studies  and  exercises  of  taste,  he  had 
read  variously  and  judiciously.  If  any  public  man, 
or  any  man,  had  more  thorouglily  mastered  British 
constitutional  and  general  history,  or  the  history  of 
British  legislation,  or  could  deduce  the  progress, 
eras,  causes,  and  hindrances  of  British  liberty  in  more 
prompt,  exact,  and  copious  detail,  or  had  in  his  mem- 
or}'’,  at  any  given  moment,  a more  ample  political 
biography,  or  political  literature,  I do  not  know  him. 
His  library  of  English  history,  and  of  all  history,  was 
always  rich,  select,  and  catholic;  and  I well  recollect 
hearing  him,  in  1819,  while  attending  a commence- 
ment of  this  College,  at  an  evening  party,  sketch, 
with  great  emphasis  and  interest  of  manner,  the  mer- 
its of  George  Buchanan,  the  historian  of  Scotland,  — 
his  Latinity  and  eloquence  almost  equal  to  Livy’s,  his 
love  of  liberty  and  his  genius  greater,  and  his  title  to 
credit  not  much  worse.  American  history  and  Amer- 
ican political  literature  he  had  by  heart.  The  long 
series  of  influences  that  trained  us  for  representative 
and  free  government ; that  other  series  of  influences 
which  moulded  us  into  a united  government,  — the 


304 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEk. 


colonial  era,  the  age  of  controversy  before  the  Revo- 
lution ; every  scene  and  every  person  in  that  great 
tragic  action,  the  age  of  controversy  following  the 
Revolution,  and  preceding  the  Constitution,  unlike 
the  earlier,  in  which  we  divided  among  ourselves  on 
the  greatest  questions  which  can  engage  the  mind  of 
America,  — the  questions  of  the  existence  of  a na- 
tional government,  of  the  continued  existence  of 
the  State  governments,  on  the  partition  of  powers, 
on  the  umpirage  of  disputes  between  them,  — a con- 
troversy on  which  the  destiny  of  the  New  World  was 
staked ; every  problem  which  has  successively  en- 
gaged our  politics,  and  every  name  which  has  figured 
in  them,  — the  whole  stream  of  our  time  was  open, 
clear,  and  present  ever  to  his  eye. 

I think,  too,  that,  though  not  a frequent  and  am- 
bitious citer  of  authorities,  he  had  read,  in  the  course 
of  the  study  of  his  profession  or  politics,  and  liad 
meditated  all  the  great  writers  and  thinkers  by  whom 
the  principles  of  republican  government,  and  all  free 
governments,  are  most  authoritatively  expounded. 
Aristotle,  Cicero,  Machiavel,  — one  of  whose  dis- 
courses on  Livy  maintains,  in  so  masterly  an  argu- 
ment, how  much  wiser  and  more  constant  are  the 
people  than  the  prince,  a doctrine  of  liberty  consola- 
tory and  full  of  joy,  — Harrington,  Milton,  S3^dney, 
Locke,  I know  he  had  read  and  weighed. 

Other  classes  of  information  there  were,  — partly 
obtained  from  books,  partly  from  observation,  to  some 
extent  referable  to  his  two  main  employments  of 
politics  and  law,  — by  which  he  was  distinguished 
remarkably.  Thus,  nobody  but  was  struck  with  his 
knowledge  of  civil  and  physical  geography,  and,  to  a 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


805 


less  extent,  of  geology  and  races  ; of  all  the  great 
routes  and  marts  of  our  foreign,  coastwise,  and  in- 
terior commerce,  the  subjects  which  it  exchanges,  the 
whole  circle  of  industry  it  comprehends  and  passes 
around;  the  kinds  of  our  mechanical  and  manufac- 
turing productions,  and  their  relations  to  all  labor 
and  life ; the  history,  theories,  and  practice  of  agri- 
culture,— our  own  and  that  of  other  countries, — 
and  its  relations  to  government,  liberty,  happiness, 
and  the  character  of  nations.  This  kind  of  informa- 
tion enriched  and  assisted  all  his  public  efforts ; but 
to  appreciate  the  variety  and  accuracy  of  his  knowl- 
edge, and  even  the  true  compass  of  his  mind,  you 
must  have  had  some  familiarity  Avith  his  friendly 
written  correspondence,  and  you  must  have  conversed 
Avith  him  with  some  degree  of  freedom.  There,  more 
than  in  senatorial  or  forensic  debate,  gleamed  the 
true  riches  of  his  genius,  as  well  as  the  goodness  of 
his  large  heart,  and  the  kindness  of  his  noble  nature. 
There,  Ardth  no  longer  a great  part  to  discharge,  no 
longer  compelled  to  Aveigh  and  measure  propositions, 
to  tread  the  dizzy  heights  Avhich  part  the  antagoirisms 
of  the  Constitution,  to  put  aside  allusions  and  illus- 
trations which  crowded  on  his  mind  in  action,  but 
which  the  dignity  of  a public  appearance  had  to  re- 
ject, in  the  confidence  of  hospitality,  which  ever  he 
dispensed  as  a prince  who  also  was  a friend,  his  mem- 
ory — one  of  his  most  extraordinary  faculties,  quite 
in  proportion  to  all  the  rest  — swept  free  over  the 
readings  and  labors  of  more  than  half  a century ; 
and  then,  allusions,  direct  and  ready  quotations,  a 
passing,  mature  criticism,  sometimes  only  a recollec- 
tion of  the  mere  emotions  which  a glorious  passage 

20 


306 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


or  interesting  event  had  once  excited,  darkening  for 
a moment  the  face  and  filling  the  eye,  often  an  in- 
structive exposition  of  a current  maxim  of  philosophy 
or  politics,  the  history  of  an  iiwention,  the  recital  of 
some  incident  casting  a new  light  on  some  transac- 
tion or  some  institution,  — this  flow  of  unstudied 
conversation,  quite  as  remarkable  as  any  other  ex- 
hibition of  his  mind,  better  than  any  other,  perhaps, 
at  once  opened  an  unexpected  glimpse  of  his  various 
acquirements,  and  gave  you  to  experience,  delightedly, 
that  the  “ mild  sentiments  have  their  eloquence  as 
well  as  the  stormy  passions.” 

There  must  be  added,  next,  the  element  of  an  im- 
pressive character,  inspiring  regard,  trust,  and  ad- 
miration, not  unmingled  with  love.  It  had,  I think, 
intrinsically  a charm  such  as  belongs  only  to  a good, 
noble,  and  beautiful  nature.  In  its  combination  with 
so  much  fame,  so  much  force  of  will,  and  so  much 
intellect,  it  filled  and  fascinated  the  imagination  and 
heart.  It  was  affectionate  in  childhood  and  youth, 
and  it  was  more  than  ever  so  in  the  few  last  months 
of  his  long  life.  It  is  the  universal  testimony  that 
he  gave  to  his  parents,  in  largest  measure,  honor, 
love,  obedience  ; that  he  eagerly  appropriated  the  first 
means  which  he  could  command  to  relieve  the  father 
from  the  debts  contracted  to  educate  his  brother  and 
himself ; that  he  selected  his  first  place  of  professional 
practice  that  he  might  soothe  the  coming  on  of  his 
old  age ; that  all  through  life  he  neglected  no  occa- 
sion — sometimes  when  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a 
friend,  alone,  with  faltering  voice,  sometimes  in  the 
presence  of  great  assemblies,  where  the  tide  of  gen- 
eral emotion  made  it  graceful  — to  express  his  “affec- 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


307 


donate  veneration  of  him  who  reared  and  defended 
the  log  cabin  in  which  his  elder  brothers  and  sisters 
were  born,  against  savage  violence  and  destruction, 
cherished  all  the  domestic  virtues  beneath  its  roof, 
and,  through  the  fire  and  blood  of  some  years  of 
revolutionary  war,  shrank  from  no  danger,  no  toil,  no 
sacrifice,  to  serve  his  country,  and  to  raise  his  chil- 
dren to  a condition  better  than  his  own.” 

Equally  beautiful  was  his  love  of  all  his  kindred 
and  of  all  his  friends.  When  I hear  him  accused  of 
selfishness,  and  a cold,  bad  nature,  I recall  him  lying 
sleepless  all  night,  not  without  tears  of  boyhood,  con- 
ferring with  Ezekiel  how  the  darling  desire  of  both 
hearts  should  be  compassed,  and  he,  too,  admitted 
to  the  precious  privileges  of  education ; courageously 
pleading  the  cause  of  both  brothers  in  the  morning ; 
prevailing  by  the  wise  and  discerning  affection  of  the 
mother  ; suspending  his  studies  of  the  law,  and  regis- 
tering deeds  and  teaching  school  to  earn  the  means, 
for  both,  of  availing  themselves  of  the  opportunity 
which  the  parental  self-sacrifice  had  placed  within 
their  reach ; loving  him  through  life,  mourning  him 
when  dead,  with  a love  and  a sorrow  very  wonderful, 
passing  the  sorrow  of  woman ; I recall  the  husband, 
the  father  of  the  living  and  of  the  early  departed, 
the  friend,  the  counsellor  of  many  years,  and  my 
heart  grows  too  full  and  liquid  for  the  refutation  of 
words. 

His  affectionate  nature,  craving  ever  friendship,  as 
well  as  the  presence  of  kindred  blood,  diffused  itself 
through  all  his  private  life,  gave  sincerity  to  all  his 
hospitalities,  kindness  to  his  eye,  warmth  to  the  press- 
ure of  his  hand ; made  his  greatness  and  genius 


308 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


unbend  themselves  to  the  playfulness  of  childhood, 
flowed  out  in  graceful  memories  indulged  of  the  past 
or  the  dead,  of  incidents  when  life  was  young  and 
promised  to  be  happy,  — gave  generous  sketches  of 
his  rivals,  — the  high  contention  now  hidden  by  the 
handful  of  earth,  — hours  passed  fifty  years  ago  with 
great  authors,  recalled  for  the  vernal  emotions  which 
then  they  made  to  live  and  revel  in  the  soul.  And 
from  these  conversations  of  friendship,  no  man  — no 
man,  old  or  young  — went  away  to  remember  one 
word  of  profaneness,  one  allusion  of  indelicacy,  one 
impure  thought,  one  unbelieving  suggestion,  one 
doubt  cast  on  the  reality  of  virtue,  of  patriotism, 
of  enthusiasm,  of  the  progress  of  man,  — one  doubt 
cast  on  righteousness,  or  temperance,  or  judgment 
to  come. 

Every  one  of  his  tastes  and  recreations  announced 
the  same  type  of  character.  His  love  of  agriculture, 
of  sports  in  the  open  air,  of  the  outward  world  in 
starlight  and  storms,  and  sea  and  boundless  wilder- 
ness, — partly  a result  of  the  influences  of  the  first 
fourteen  years  of  his  life,  perpetuated  like  its  other 
affections  and  its  other  lessons  of  a mother’s  love,  — 
the  Psalms,  the  Bible,  the  stories  of  the  wars,  — 
partly  the  return  of  an  unsophisticated  and  healthful 
nature,  tiring,  for  a space,  of  the  idle  business  of 
political  life,  its  distinctions,  its  artificialities,  to  em- 
ployments, to  sensations  which  interest  without  agi- 
tating the  universal  race  alike,  as  God  has  framed  it, 
in  which  one  feels  himself  only  a man,  fashioned 
from  the  earth,  set  to  till  it,  appointed  to  return  to 
it,  yet  made  in  the  image  of  his  Maker,  and  with  a 
spirit  that  shall  not  die,  — all  displayed  a man  whom 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


309 


the  most  various  intercourse  with  the  world,  the 
longest  career  of  strife  and  honors,  the  consciousness 
of  intellectual  supremacy,  the  coming  in  of  a wide 
fame,  constantly  enlarging,  left,  as  he  was  at  first, 
natural,  simple,  manly,  genial,  kind. 

You  will  all  concur,  I think,  with  a learned  friend 
who  thus  calls  my  attention  to  the  resemblance  of  his 
character,  in  some  of  these  particulars,  to  that  of 
Walter  Scott:  — 

“Nature  endowed  both  with  athletic  frames,  and  a 
noble  presence  ; both  passionately  loved  rural  life, 
its  labors  and  sports ; possessed  a manly  simplicity, 
free  from  all  affectation,  genial  and  social  tastes,  full 
minds,  and  happy  elocution  ; both  stamped  themselves 
with  indelible  marks  upon  the  age  in  which  they  lived ; 
both  were  laborious,  and  always  with  high  and  vir- 
tuous aims,  ardent  in  patriotism,  overflowing  with 
love  of  ‘ kindred  blood,’  and,  above  all,  frank  and 
unostentatious  Christians.” 

I have  learned  by  evidence  the  most  direct  and 
satisfactory,  that  in  the  last  months  of  his  life,  the 
whole  affectionateness  of  his  nature  ; his  consideration 
of  others  ; his  gentleness  ; his  desire  to  make  them 
happy  and  to  see  them  happy,  seemed  to  come  out  in 
more  and  more  beautiful  and  habitual  expression  than 
ever  before.  The  long  day’s  public  tasks  were  felt 
to  be  done ; the  cares,  the  uncertainties,  the  mental 
conflicts  of  high  place,  were  ended ; and  he  came 
home  to  recover  himself  for  the  few  years  which  he 
might  still  expect  would  be  his  before  he  should  go 
hence  to  be  here  no  more.  And  there,  I am  assured 
and  fully  believe,  no  unbecoming  regrets  pursued 
him  ; no  discontent,  as  for  injustice  suffered  or  expec- 


310 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


tatious  unfulfilled ; no  self-reproach  for  any  thing 
done  or  any  thing  omitted  by  himself ; no  h-ritation, 
no  peevishness  unworthy  of  his  noble  nature ; but 
in;*tead,  love  and  hope  for  his  country,  when  she  be- 
came the  subject  of  conversation  ; and  for  all  around 
him,  the  dearest  and  most  indifferent,  for  all  breath- 
ing things  about  him,  the  overflow  of  the  kindest 
heart  growing  in  gentleness  and  benevolence  ; pater- 
nal, patriarchal  affections,  seeming  to  become  more 
natural,  warm,  and  eommunicative  every  hour.  Softer 
and  yet  brighter  grew  the  tints  on  the  sky  of  parting 
day ; and  the  last  lingering  rays,  more  even  than  the 
glories  of  noon,  announced  how  divine  was  the  source 
from  which  they  proceeded  ; how  incapable  to  be 
quenched ; how  certain  to  rise  on  a morning  which 
no  night  should  follow. 

Such  a character  was  made  to  be  loved.  It  was 
loved.  Those  who  knew  and  saw  it  in  its  hour  of 
calm  — those  who  could  repose  on  that  soft  green — 
loved  him.  His  plain  neighbors  loved  him ; and  one 
said,  when  he  was  laid  in  his  grave,  “ How  lonesome 
the  world  seems  ! ” Educated  young  men  loved  him. 
The  ministers  of  the  gospel,  the  general  intelligence 
of  the  country,  the  masses  afar  off,  loved  him.  True, 
they  had  not  found  in  his  speeches,  read  by  millions, 
so  much  adulation  of  the  people ; so  much  of  the 
music  which  robs  the  public  reason  of  itself ; so  many 
phrases  of  humanity  and  philanthropy;  and  some 
had  told  them  he  was  lofty  and  cold,  — solitary  in 
his  greatness ; but  every  year  they  came  nearer  and 
nearer  to  him,  and  as  they  came  nearer,  they  loved 
him  better  ; they  heard  how  tender  the  son  had  been, 
the  husband,  the  brother,  the  father,  the  friend,  and 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


311 


neiglibor ; that  he  was  plain,  simple,  natural,  generous, 
hospitable,  — the  heart  larger  than  the  brain  ; that  he 
loved  little  childi’en  and  revereimed  God,  the  Scrip- 
tures, the  Sabbath-day,  the  Constitution,  and  the 
law,  — and  their  hearts  clave  unto  him.  More  truly 
of  him  than  even  of  the  great  naval  darling  of  Eng- 
land might  it  be  said,  that  “ his  ju’esence  would  set 
the  church-bells  ringing,  and  give  school-boys  a holi- 
day, — would  bring  children  from  school  and  old 
men  from  the  chimney-corner,  to  gaze  on  him  ere  he 
died.”  The  great  and  unavailing  lamentation  first 
revealed  the  deep  place  he  had  in  the  hearts  of  his 
countrymen. 

You  are  now  to  add  to  this  his  extraordinary  power 
of  infiuencing  the  convictions  of  others  b}^  speech,  and 
you  have  completed  the  survey  of  the  means  of  his 
greatness.  And  here,  again,  I begin,  by  admiring 
an  aggregate,  made  up  of  excellences  and  triumphs, 
ordinarily  deemed  incompatible.  He  spoke  with 
consummate  ability  to  the  bench,  and  yet  exactly  as, 
according  to  every  sound  canon  of  taste  and  ethics, 
the  bench  ought  to  be  addressed.  He  spoke  with 
consummate  ability  to  the  jury,  and  yet  exactly  as, 
according  to  every  sound  canon,  that  totally  different 
tribunal  ought  to  be  addressed.  In  the  halls  of  con- 
gress, before  the  people  assembled  for  political  dis- 
cussion in  masses,  before  audiences  smaller  and  more 
select,  assembled  for  some  solemn  commemoration  of 
the  past  or  of  the  dead,. — in  each  of  these,  again, 
his  speech,  of  the  first  form  of  ability,  was  exactly 
adapted,  also,  to  the  critical  j)roprieties  of  the  place  ; 
each  achieved,  when  delivered,  the  most  instant  and 
specific  success  of  eloquence,  — some  of  them  in  a 


312 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


splendid  and  remarkable  degree ; and  yet,  stranger 
still,  when  reduced  to  writing,  as  they  fell  from  his 
lips,  they  compose  a body  of  reading,  — in  many  vol 
umes,  — solid,  clear,  rich,  and  full  of  harmony,  — a 
classical  and  permanent  political  literature. 

And  yet  all  these  modes  of  his  eloquence,  exactly 
adapted  each  to  its  stage  and  its  end,  were  stamped 
with  his  image  and  superscription,  identified  by 
characteristics  incapable  to  be  counterfeited,  and 
impossible  to  be  mistaken.  The  same  high  power  of 
reason,  intent  in  every  one  to  explore  and  display 
some  truth  ; some  truth  of  judicial,  or  historical,  or 
biographical  fact ; some  truth  of  law,  deduced  by 
construction,  perhaps,  or  by  illation  ; some  truth  of 
policy,  for  want  whereof  a nation,  generations,  may 
be  the  worse,  — reason  seeking  and  unfolding  truth ; 
the  same  tone,  in  all,  of  deep  earnestness,  expressive 
of  strong  desire  that  that  which  he  felt  to  be  impor- 
tant should  be  accepted  as  true,  and  spring  up  to 
action ; the  same  transparent,  plain,  forcible,  and 
direct  speech,  conveying  his  exact  thought  to  the 
mind, — not  something  less  or  more  ; tlie  same  sov- 
ereignty of  form,  of  brow,  and  eye,  and  tone,  and 
manner,  — everywhere  the  intellectual  king  of  men, 
standing  before  you,  — that  same  marvellousness  of 
qualities  and  results,  residing,  I know  not  where,  in 
words,  in  pictures,  in  the  ordering  of  ideas,  in  felici- 
ties indescribable,  by  means  whereof,  coming  from 
his  tongue,  all  things  seemed  mended,  — truth  seemed 
more  true,  probability  more  plausible,  greatness  more 
grand,  goodness  more  awful,  every  affection  more 
tender  than  when  coming  from  other  tongues,  — 
these  are,  in  all,  his  eloquence.  But  sometimes  it 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 


313 


became  individualized,  and  discriminated  even  from 
itself;  sometimes  place  and  circumstances,  great  in- 
terests at  stake,  a stage,  an  audience  fitted  for  the 
highest  historic  action,  a crisis,  personal  or  national, 
upon  him,  stirred  the  depths  of  that  emotional  nature, 
as  the  anger  of  the  goddess  stirs  the  sea  on  which  the 
great  epic  is  beginning  ; strong  passions,  themselves 
kindled  to  intensity,  quickened  eveiy  faculty  to  a 
new  life  ; the  stimulated  associations  of  ideas  brought 
all  treasures  of  thought  and  knowledge  within  com- 
mand, the  spell,  which  often  held  his  imagination 
fast,  dissolved,  and  she  arose  and  gave  him  to  choose 
of  her  urn  of  gold ; earnestness  became  vehemence, 
the  simple,  perspicuous,  measured,  and  direct  lan- 
guage became  a headlong,  full,  and  burning  tide  of 
speech;  the  discourse  of  reason,  wisdom,  gravity,  and 
beauty,  changed  to  that  Aeivorr]^^  that  rarest  consum- 
mate eloquence,  — grand,  rapid,  pathetic,  terrible  ; 
the  aliquid  immemum  infinitumque  that  Cicero  might 
have  recognized ; the  master  triumph  of  man  in  the 
rarest  opportunity  of  his  noblest  power. 

Such  elevation  above  himself,  in  congressional  de- 
bate, was  most  uncommon.  Some  such  there  were 
in  the  great  discussions  of  executive  power  following 
the  removal  of  the  deposits,  which  they  who  heard 
them  will  never  forget,  and  some  which  rest  in  the 
tradition  of  hearers  only.  But  there  were  other 
fields  of  oratory  on  which,  under  the  influence  of 
more  uncommon  springs  of  inspiration,  he  exempli- 
fied, in  still  other  forms,  an  eloquence  in  which  I do 
not  know  that  he  has  had  a superior  among  men. 
Addressing  masses  by  tens  of  thousands  in  the  open 
air,  on  the  urgent  political  questions  of  the  day,  or 


314 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


designated  to  lead  the  meditations  of  an  hour  devoted 
to  the  remembrance  of  some  national  era,  or  of  some 
incident  marking  the  progress  of  the  nation,  and 
lifting  him  up  to  a view  of  wliat  is,  and  what  is  past, 
and  some  indistinct  revelation  of  the  glory  that  lies 
in  the  future,  or  of  some  great  historical  name,  just 
borne  by  the  nation  to  his  tomb,  — we  have  learned 
that  then  and  there,  at  the  base  of  Bunker  Hill,  be- 
fore the  corner-stone  was  laid,  and  again  when  from 
the  finished  column  the  centuries  looked  on  him  ; in 
Faneuil  Hall,  mourning  for  those  with  whose  spoken 
or  written  eloquence  of  freedom  its  arches  had  so 
often  resounded ; on  the  rock  of  Plymouth ; before 
the  capitol,  of  which  there  shall  not  be  one  stone  left 
on  another,  before  his  memory  shall  have  ceased  to 
live,  — in  such  scenes,  unfettered  by  the  laws  of 
forensic  or  parliamentary  debate ; multitudes  un- 
counted lifting  up  their  eyes  to  him  ; some  great  his- 
torical scenes  of  America  around  ; all  symbols  of  her 
glory  and  art  and  power  and  fortune  there  ; voices 
of  the  past,  not  unheard  ; shapes  beckoning  from  the 
future,  not  unseen,  — sometimes  that  mighty  intel- 
lect, borne  upwards  to  a height  and  kindled  to  an 
illumination  which  we  shall  see  no  more,  wrought 
out,  as  it  were,  in  an  instant,  a picture  of  vision, 
w'arning,  prediction ; the  progress  of  the  nation  ; the 
contrasts  of  its  eras  ; the  heroic  deaths  ; the  motives 
to  patriotism ; the  maxims  and  arts  imperial  by 
which  the  glory  has  been  gathered  and  may  be 
heightened,  — wrought  out,  in  an  instant,  a picture 
to  fade  only  when  all  record  of  our  mind  shall  die. 

In  looking  over  the  public  remains  of  his  oratory, 
it  is  striking  to  remark  how,  even  in  that  most  sober 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


315 


and  massive  understanding  and  nature,  you  see  gath- 
ered and  expressed  the  characteristic  sentiments  and 
the  passing  time  of  our  America.  It  is  the  strong 
old  oak  which  ascends  before  you ; yet  our  soil,  our 
heaven,  are  attested  in  it  as  perfectly  as  if  it  were  a 
flower  that  could  grow  in  no  other  climate  and  in  no 
other  hour  of  the  year  or  day.  Let  me  instance  in 
one  thing  only.  It  is  a peculiarity  of  some  schools 
of  eloquence  that  they  embody'  and  utter,  not  merely 
the  individual  genius  and  character  of  the  speakei. 
but  a national  consciousness,  — a national  era,  a 
mood,  a hope,  a dread,  a despair,  — in  which  you 
listen  to  the  spoken  history  of  the  time.  There  is  an 
eloquence  of  an  expiring  nation,  such  as  seems  to 
sadden  the  glorious  speech  of  Demosthenes ; such  as 
breathes  grand  and  gloomy  from  the  visions  of  the 
prophets  of  the  last  days  of  Israel  and  Judah ; such 
as  gave  a spell  to  the  expression  of  Grattan  and  of 
Kossuth,  — the  sweetest,  most  mournful,  most  awful 
of  the  words  which  man  may  utter,  or  which  man 
may  hear,  — tlie  eloquence  of  a perishing  nation. 
There  is  another  eloquence,  in  which  the  national 
consciousness  of  a young  or  renewed  and  vast 
strength,  of  trust  in  a dazzling,  certain,  and  limit- 
less future,  an  inward  glorying  in  victories  yet  to  be 
won,  sounds  out  as  by  voice  of  clarion,  challenging  to 
contest  for  the  highest  prize  of  earth ; such  as  that  in 
which  the  leader  of  Israel  in  its  flrst  days  holds  up 
to  the  new  nation  the  Land  of  Promise  ; such  as  that 
which  in  the  well  imagined  speeches  scattered  by 
Livy  over  the  history  of  the  “ majestic  series  of  vic- 
tories ” speaks  the  Roman  consciousness  of  growing 
aggrandizement  which  should  subject  the  world ; 


316 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


such  as  that  through  which,  at  the  tribunes  of  her 
revolution,  in  the  bulletins  of  her  rising  soldier, 
France  told  to  the  world  her  dream  of  glory.  And 
of  this  kind  somewhat  is  ours ; cheerful,  hopeful, 
trusting,  as  befits  youth  and  spring  ; the  eloquence  of 
a State  beginning  to  ascend  to  the  first  class  of  power, 
eminence,  and  consideration,  and  conscious  of  itself. 
It  is  to  uo  purpose  that  they  tell  you  it  is  in  bad 
taste  ; that  it  partakes  of  arrogance  and  vanity  ; that 
a true  national  good  breeding  would  not  know,  or 
seem  to  know,  whether  the  nation  is  old  or  young ; 
whether  the  tides  of  being  are  in  their  flow  or  ebb ; 
whether  these  coursers  of  the  sun  are  sinking  slowly 
to  rest,  wearied  with  a journey  of  a thousand  years, 
or  just  bounding  from  the  Orient  unbreathed.  Higher 
laws  than  those  of  taste  determine  the  consciousness 
of  nations.  Higher  laws  than  those  of  taste  deter- 
mine the  general  forms  of  the  expression  of  that  con- 
sciousness. Let  the  downward  age  of  America  find 
its  orators  and  poets  and  artists  to  erect  its  spirit,  or 
grace  and  soothe  its  dying ; be  it  ours  to  go  up  with 
Webster  to  the  rock,  the  monument,  the  capitol,  and 
bid  “•  the  distant  generations  hail ! ” 

In  this  connection  remark,  somewhat  more  gener- 
ally, to  how  extraordinary  an  extent  he  had  by  his 
acts,  words,  thoughts,  or  the  events  of  his  life,  associ- 
ated himself  for  ever  in  the  memory  of  all  of  us,  with 
every  historical  incident,  or  at  least  with  every  his- 
torical epoch  ; with  every  policy  ; with  every  glory  ; 
with  ever}"  great  name  and  fundamental  institution, 
and  grand  or  beautiful  image,  which  are  peculiarly 
and  properly  American.  Look  backwards  to  the 
planting  of  Plymouth  and  Jamestown  ; to  the  vari- 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


317 


ous  scenes  of  colonial  life  in  peace  and  war  ; to  tlie 
opening  and  march  and  close  of  the  revolutionary 
drama,  — to  the  age  of  the  Constitution  ; to  Wash- 
ino’ton  and  Franklin  and  Adams  and  Jefferson ; to 
the  whole  train  of  causes  from  the  Reformation 
downwards,  which  prepared  us  to  be  Republicans ; 
to  that  other  train  of  causes  which  led  us  to  be 
Unionists,  — look  round  on  field,  workshop,  and 
deck,  and  hear  the  music  of  labor  rewarded,  fed,  and 
protected,  — look  on  the  bright  sisterhood  of  the 
States,  each  singing  as  a seraph  in  her  motion,  yet 
blending  in  a common  beam  and  swelling  a common 
harmony,  — and  there  is  nothing  which  does  not 
bring  him  by  some  tie  to  the  memory  of  America. 

We  seem  to  see  his  form  and  hear  his  deep  grave 
speech  everywhere.  By  some  felicity  of  his  personal 
life ; by  some  wise,  deep,  or  beautiful  word  spoken 
or  written  ; by  some  service  of  his  own,  or  some 
commemoration  of  the  services  of  others,  it  has  come 
to  pass  that  “ our  granite  hills,  our  inland  seas  and 
prairies,  and  fresh,  unbounded,  magnificent  wilder- 
ness ; ” our  encircling  ocean ; the  resting-place  of 
the  Pilgrims  ; our  new-born  sister  of  the  Pacific  ; our 
popular  assemblies ; our  free  schools ; all  our  cher- 
ished doctrines  of  education,  and  of  the  influence  of 
religion,  and  material  policy  and  law,  and  the  Con- 
stitution, give  us  back  his  name.  What  American 
landscape  will  you  look  on ; what  subject  of  Ameri- 
can interest  will  you  study ; what  source  of  hope  or 
of  anxiety,  as  an  American,  will  you  acknowledge 
that  it  does  not  recall  him  ? 

I have  reserved,  until  I could  treat  it  as  a separate 
and  final  topic,  the  consideration  of  the  morality  of 


318 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


Mr.  Webster’s  public  character  and  life.  To  his  true 
fame,  — to  the  kind  and  degree  of  influence  which 
that  large  series  of  great  actions  and  those  embodied 
thoughts  of  great  intellect  are  to  exert  on  the  future, 
— this  is  the  all-important  consideration.  In  the  last 
speech  which  he  made  in  the  Senate, — the  last  of 
those  which  he  made,  as  he  said,  for  the  Constitution 
and  the  Union,  and  which  he  might  have  commended, 
as  Bacon  his  name  and  memory  “ to  men’s  charitable 
speeches,  to  foreign  nations,  and  the  next  ages,”  — 
yet  with  a better  hope  he  asserted,  “ The  ends  I aim 
at  shall  be  those  of  my  Country,  my  God,  and  Truth.” 
Is  that  praise  his  ? 

Until  the  seventh  day  of  March,  1850,  I think  it 
would  have  been  accorded  to  him  by  an  almost  uni- 
versal acclaim,  as  general  and  as  expressive  of  pro- 
found and  intelligent  conviction,  and  of  enthusiasm, 
love,  and  trust,  as  ever  saluted  conspicuous  states- 
manship, tried  by  many  crises  of  affairs  in  a great 
nation,  agitated  ever  by  parties,  and  wholly  free. 

That  he  had  admitted  into  his  heart  a desire  to 
win,  by  deserving  them,  the  highest  forms  of  public 
honor,  many  would  have  said ; and  they  who  loved 
him  most  fondly,  and  felt  the  truest  solicitude  that 
he  should  carry  a good  conscience  and  pure  fame 
brighteuing  to  the  end,  would  not  have  feared  to  con- 
cede. For  he  was  not  ignorant  of  himself;  and  he 
therefore  knew  that  there  was  nothing  within  the 
Union,  Constitution,  and  Law,  too  high  or  too  large 
or  too  difficult  for  him.  He  believed  that  his  natural 
or  his  acquired  abilities,  and  his  policy  of  adminis- 
tration, would  contribute  to  the  true  glory  of  Amer- 
ica ; and  he  held  no  theory  of  ethics  which  required 


EULOG\  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


319 


him  to  disparage,  to  suppress,  to  ignore  vast  capaci- 
ties of  public  seiAuce  merely  because  they  were  his 
owu.  If  the  fleets  of  Greece  were  assembling,  and 
her  tribes  buckling  on  their  arms  from  Laconia  to 
IMount  Olympus,  from  the  promontory  of  Sunium  to 
the  isle  farthest  to  the  west,  and  the  great  epic  action 
was  opening,  it  was  not  for  him  to  feign  insanity  or 
idiocy,  to  escape  the  perils  and  the  honor  of  com- 
mand. But  that  all  this  in  him  had  been  ever  in 
subordination  to  a principled  and  beautiful  public 
virtue  ; that  every  sectional  bias,  eveiy  party  tie,  as 
well  as  every  personal  aspiring,  had  been  uniformly 
held  by  him  for  nothing  against  the  claims  of  coun- 
try ; that  nothing  lower  than  country  seemed  worthy 
enough  — nothing  smaller  than  country  large  enough 
— for  that  great  heart,  would  not  have  been  ques- 
tioned by  a whisper.  Ah  ! if  at  any  hour  before  that 
day  he  had  died,  how  would  then  the  great  procession 
of  the  people  of  America  — the  great  triumphal  pro- 
cession of  the  dead  — have  moved  onward  to  his 
grave — the  sublimity  of  national  sorrow,  not  con- 
trasted, not  outraged  by  one  feeble  voice  of  calumny  ! 

In  that  antecedent  public  life,  embracing  from  1812 
to  1830  — a period  of  thirty-eight  jmars  — I find 
grandest  proofs  of  the  genuineness  and  comprehen- 
siveness of  his  patriotism,  and  the  boldness  and  man- 
liness of  his  public  virtue.  He  began  his  career  of 
politics  as  a Federalist.  Such  was  his  father  — so 
beloved  and  revered ; such  his  literary  and  profes- 
sional companions ; such,  although  by  no  very  deci- 
sive or  certain  preponderance,  the  community  in 
which  he  was  bred  and  was  to  live.  Under  that  name 
of  party  he  entered  Congress,  personally,  and  by 


320 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


connection,  opposed  to  the  war,  which  was  thought 
to  bear  with  such  extreme  sectional  severity  upon  the 
North  and  East.  And  yet  one  might  almost  say  that 
the  only  thing  he  imbibed  from  Federalists  or  Fed- 
eralism was  love  and  admiration  for  the  Constitution 
as  the  means  of  union.  That  passion  he  did  inherit 
from  them  ; that  he  cherished. 

He  came  into  Congress,  opposed,  as  I have  said,  to 
the  war  ; and  behold  him,  if  you  would  judge  of  the 
quality  of  his  political  ethics,  in  opposition.  Did 
those  eloquent  lips,  at  a time  of  life  when  vehemence 
and  imprudence  are  expected,  if  ever,  and  not  un- 
graceful, let  fall  ever  one  word  of  faction  ? Did  he 
ever  deny  one  power  to  the  general  government, 
which  the  soundest  expositors  of  all  creeds  have 
allowed  it  ? Did  he  ever  breathe  a syllable  which 
could  excite  a region,  a State,  a family  of  States, 
against  the  Union,  — which  could  hold  out  hope  or 
aid  to  the  enemy  ? — which  sought  or  tended  to  turn 
back  or  to  chill  the  fiery  tide  of  a new  and  intense 
nationality,  then  bursting  up,  to  fiow  and  burn  till 
all  things  appointed  to  America  to  do  shall  be  ful- 
filled ? These  questions,  in  their  substance,  he  put 
to  Mr.  Calhoun,  in  1838,  in  the  Senate,  and  that 
great  man  — one  of  the  authors  of  the  war  — just 
then,  only  then,  in  relations  unfriendly  to  Mr.  Web- 
ster, and  who  had  just  insinuated  a reproach  on  his 
conduct  in  the  war,  was  silent.  Did  Mr.  Webster 
content  himself  even  with  objecting  to  the  details  of 
the  mode  in  which  the  administration  waged  the  war  ? 
No,  indeed.  Taught  by  his  constitutional  studies 
that  the  Union  was  made  in  part  for  commerce, 
familiar  with  the  habits  of  our  long  line  of  coast. 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


321 


knowing  well  how  many  sailors  and  fishermen,  driven 
from  every  sea  by  embargo  and  war,  burned  to  go  to  the 
gun-deck  and  avenge  the  long  wrongs  of  England  on 
the  element  where  she  had  inflicted  them,  his  opposi- 
tion to  the  war  manifested  itself  by  teaching  the  nation 
that  the  deck  was  her  field  of  fame.  Non  illi  imperium 
pelagi  scevumque  tridentem,  sed  nohis,  sorte  datum. 

But  I might  recall  other  evidence  of  the  sterling 
and  unusual  qualities  of  his  public  virtue.  Look  in 
how  manly  a sort  he  — not  merely  conducted  a par- 
ticular argument  or  a particular  speech,  but  in  how 
manly  a sort,  in  how  high  a moral  tone,  he  uniformly 
dealt  with  the  mind  of  his  country.  Politicians  got 
an  advantage  of  him  for  this  while  he  lived  ; let  the 
dead  have  just  praise  to-day.  Our  public  life  is  one 
long  electioneering,  and  even  Burke  tells  you  that  at 
popular  elections  the  most  rigorous  casuists  will  remit 
something  of  their  severity.  But  where  do  you  find 
him  flattering  his  countrymen,  indirectly  or  directly, 
for  a vote  ? On  what  did  he  ever  place  himself 
but  good  counsels  and  useful  service  ? His  arts  were 
manly  arts,  and  he  never  saw  a day  of  temptation 
when  he  would  not  rather  fall  than  stand  on  any 
other.  Who  ever  heard  that  voice  cheering  the  peo- 
ple on  to  rapacity,  to  injustice,  to  a vain  and  guilty 
glory  ? Who  ever  saw  that  pencil  of  light  hold  up 
a picture  of  manifest  destiny  to  dazzle  the  fancy  ? 
How  anxiously  rather,  in  season  and  out,  by  the  en- 
ergetic eloquence  of  his  youth,  by  his  counsels  be- 
queathed on  the  verge  of  a timely  grave,  he  preferred 
to  teach  that  by  all  possible  acquired  sobriety  of 
mind,  by  asking  reverently  of  the  past,  by  obedience 
to  the  law,  by  habits  of  patient  and  legitimate  labor, 

21 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


Q09 

Kj 

by  the  cultivation  of  the  mind,  by  the  fear  and  wor- 
ship of  God,  we  educate  ourselves  for  the  future  that 
is  revealing.  Men  said  he  did  not  sympathize  with  the 
masses,  because  his  j)hraseology  was  rather  of  an  old 
and  simple  school,  rejecting  the  nauseous  and  vain 
repetitions  of  humanity  and  philanthropy,  and  prog- 
ress and  brotherhood,  in  which  may  lurk  heresies  so 
dreadful,  of  socialism  or  disunion  ; in  which  a selfish, 
hollow,  and  shallow  ambition  may  mask  itself,  — the 
siren  song  which  would  lure  the  pilot  from  his  course. 
But  I say  that  he  did  sympathize  with  them  ; and, 
because  he  did,  he  came  to  them  not  with  adulation, 
but  with  truth  ; not  with  words  to  please,  but  with 
measures  to  serve  them  ; not  that  his  popular  sympa- 
thies were  less,  but  that  his  personal  and  intellectual 
dignity  and  his  public  morality  were  greater. 

And  on  the  seventh  day  of  March,  and  down  to 
the  final  scene,  might  he  not  still  say  as  ever  before, 
that  “ all  the  ends  he  aimed  at  were  his  country’s,  his 
God’s,  and  truth’s.”  He  declared,  “I  speak  to-day 
for  the  preservation  of  the  Union.  Hear  me  for  my 
cause.  I speak  to-day  out  of  a solicitous  and  anx- 
ious heart  for  the  restoration  to  the  country  of  that 
quiet  and  harmony  which  make  the  blessings  of  this 
Union  so  rich  and  so  dear  to  us  all.  These  are  the 
motives  and  the  sole  motives  that  influence  me.”  If 
in  that  declaration  he  was  sincere,  was  he  not  bound 
in  conscience  to  give  the  counsels  of  that  day?  What 
were  they?  What  was  the  single  one  for  which  his 
political  morality  was  called  in  question  ? Only  that 
a provision  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  ordaining  the 
restitution  of  fugitive  slaves,  should  be  executed  ac- 
cording to  its  true  meaning.  This  only.  And  might 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


323 


he  not  in  good  conscience  keep  the  Constitution  in 
this  part,  and  in  all,  for  the  preservation  of  the  Union  ? 

Under  his  oath  to  support  it,  and  to  support  it  all, 
and  with  his  opinions  of  that  duty  so  long  held,  pro- 
claimed uniformly,  in  whose  vindication  on  some  great 
days,  he  had  found  the  chief  opportunity  of  his  per- 
sonal glory,  might  he  not,  in  good  conscience  support 
it.  and  all  of  it,  even  if  he  could  not — and  no  human 
intelligence  could  certainly  — know  that  the  extreme 
evil  would  follow,  in  immediate  consequence,  its  vio- 
jation?  Was  it  so  recent  a doctrine  of  his  that  the 
Constitution  was  obligatory  upon  the  national  and 
individual  conscience,  that  you  should  ascribe  it  to 
sudden  and  irresistible  temptation?  Why,  what  had 
he,  quite  down  to  the  seventh  of  March,  that  more 
truly  individualized  him  ? — what  had  he  more  char- 
acteristically his  own  ? — wherewithal  had  he  to  glory 
more  or  other  than  all  beside,  than  this  very  doctrine 
of  the  sacred  and  permanent  obligation  to  support 
each  and  all  parts  of  that  great  compact  of  union  and 
justice  ? Had  not  this  been  his  distinction,  his  spe- 
ciality, — almost  the  foible  of  his  greatness,  — the 
darling  and  master  passion  ever  ? Consider  that  that 
was  a sentiment  which  had  been  part  of  his  conscious 
nature  for  more  than  sixty  years  ; that  from  the  time 
lie  bought  his  first  copy  of  the  Constitution  on  the 
handkerchief,  and  revered  parental  lips  had  com- 
mended it  to  him,  with  all  other  holy  and  beautiful 
things,  along  with  lessons  of  reverence  to  God,  and 
the  belief  and  love  of  His  Scriptures,  along  with  the 
doctrine  of  the  catechism,  the  unequalled  music  of 
Watts,  the  name  of  Washington,  — there  had  never 
been  an  hour  that  he  had  not  held  it  the  master  work 


824 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 


of  man, — just  in  its  etliics,  consummate  in  its  prac- 
tical wisdom,  paramount  in  its  injunctions;  that 
every  year  of  life  had  deepened  the  original  impres- 
sion ; that  as  his  mind  opened,  and  his  associations 
widened,  he  found  that  every  one  for  whom  he  felt 
respect,  instructors,  theological  and  moral  teachers, 
his  entire  party  connection,  the  opposite  party,  and 
the  whole  country,  so  held  it,  too  ; that  its  fruits  of 
more  than  half  a century  of  union,  of  happiness,  of 
renown,  bore  constant  and  clear  witness  to  it  in  his 
mind,  and  that  it  chanced  that  certain  emergent  and 
rare  occasions  had  devolved  on  him  to  stand  forth 
to  maintain  it,  to  vindicate  its  interpretation,  to  vin- 
dicate its  authority,  to  unfold  its  workings  and  uses ; 
that  he  had  so  acquitted  himself  of  that  opportunity  as 
to  have  won  the  title  of  its  Expounder  and  Defender, 
so  that  his  proudest  memories,  his  most  prized  re- 
nown, referred  to  it,  and  were  entwined  with  it  — 
and  say  whether  with  such  antecedents,  readiness  to 
execute,  or  disposition  to  evade,  would  have  been 
the  hardest  to  explain  ; likeliest  to  suggest  the  sur- 
mise of  a new  temptation ! He  who  knows  any  thing 
of  man  knows  that  his  vote  for  beginning  the  resto- 
ration of  harmony  by  keeping  the  whole  Constitution, 
was  determined,  was  necessitated,  by  the  great  law 
of  sequences,  — a great  law  of  cause  and  effect,  run- 
ning back  to  his  mother’s  arms,  as  resistless  as  the 
law  which  moves  the  system  about  the  sun,  — and 
that  he  must  have  given  it,  although  it  had  been 
opened  to  him  in  vision,  that  within  the  next  natural 
day  his  “ eyes  should  be  turned  to  behold  for  the  last 
time  the  sun  in  heaven.” 

To  accuse  him  in  that  act  of  “ sinning  against  his 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


325 


own  conscience  ” is  to  charge  one  of  these  things : 
either  that  no  well-instructed  conscience  can  approve 
and  maintain  the  Constitution,  and  each  of  its  parts, 
and  therefore  that  his,  by  inference,  did  not  approve 
it ; or  that  he  had  never  employed  the  proper  means 
of  instructing  his  conscience,  and  therefore  its  appro- 
val, if  it  were  given,  was  itself  an  immorality.  The 
accuser  must  assert  one  of  these  propositions.  He 
will  not  deny,  I take  it  for  granted,  that  the  con- 
science requires  to  be  instructed  by  political  teaching, 
in  order  to  guide  the  citizen,  or  the  public  man, 
aright,  in  the  matter  of  political  duties.  Will  he 
say  that  the  moral  sentiments  alone,  whatever  their 
origin  — whether  factitious  and  derivative,  or  parcel 
of  the  spirit  of  the  child  and  born  with  it  — that  they 
alone,  by  force  of  strict  and  mere  ethical  training, 
become  qualified  to  pronounce  authoritatively  whether 
the  Constitution,  or  any  other  vast  and  complex  civil 
policy,  as  a whole,  whereby  a nation  is  created  and 
preserved,  ought  to  have  been  made,  or  ought  to  be 
executed?  Will  he  venture  to  tell  you,  that  if  your 
conscience  approves  the  Union,  the  Constitution  in 
all  its  parts,  and  the  law  which  administers  it,  that 
you  are  bound  to  obey  and  .uphold  them  ; and  if  it 
disapproves,  you  must,  according  to  your  measure, 
and  in  your  circles  of  agitation,  disobey  and  subvert 
them,  and  leave  the  matter  there  — forgetting  or 
designedly  omitting  to  tell  you  also  that  you  are 
bound,  in  all  good  faith  and  diligence  to  resort  to 
studies  and  to  teachers  ah  extra  — in  order  to  deter- 
mine whether  the  conscience  oiight  to  approve  or 
disapprove  the  Union,  the  Constitution,  and  the  law, 
in  vieio  of  the  whole  aggregate  of  their  nature  and 


326 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


fruits  ? Does  he  not  perfectly  know  that  this  moral 
faculty,  however  trained,  by  mere  moral  institution, 
specifically  directed  to  that  end,  to  be  tender,  sensi- 
tive, and  peremptory,  is  totally  unequal  to  decide  on 
any  action  or  any  thing,  but  the  very  simplest ; that 
which  produces  the  most  palpable  and  immediate 
result  of  unmixed  good,  or  unmixed  evil ; and  that 
when  it  comes  to  judge  on  the  great  mixed  cases  of 
the  world,  where  the  consequences  are  numerous, 
their  development  slow  and  successive,  the  light  and 
shadow  of  a blended  and  multiform  good  and  evil 
spread  out  on  the  lifetime  of  a nation,  that  then  mo- 
rality must  borrow  from  history  ; from  politics  ; from 
reason  operating  on  history  and  politics,  her  elements  of 
determination?  I think  he  must  agree  to  this.  He 
must  agree,  I think,  that  to  single  out  one  provision  in 
a political  system  of  many  parts  and  of  elaborate  inter- 
dependence, to  take  it  all  alone,  exactly  as  it  stands, 
and  without  attention  to  its  origin  and  history ; the 
necessities,  morally  resistless,  which  prescribed  its 
introduction  into  the  system,  the  unmeasured  good  in 
other  forms  which  its  allowance  buys,  the  unmeas- 
ured evil  in  other  forms  which  its  allowance  hinders 
— without  attention  to  these,  to  present  it  in  all 
“ the  nakedness  of  a metaphysical  abstraction  ” to  the 
mere  sensibilities ; and  ask  if  it  is  not  inhuman,  and 
if  they  answer  according  to  their  kind,  that  it  is,  then 
to  say  that  the  problem  is  solved,  and  the  right  of 
disobedience  is  made  clear  — he  must  agree  that  this 
is  not  to  exalt  reason  and  conscience,  but  to  outrage 
both.  He  must  agree  that  although  the  supremacy 
of  conscience  is  absolute  whether  the  decision  be 
right  or  wrong,  that  is,  according  to  the  real  qualities 


EULOGY  OX  DAXIEL  WEBSTEE. 


327 


of  things  or  not,  that  there  lies  back  of  the  actual 
conscience,  and  its  actual  decisions,  the  great  anterior 
duty  of  having  a conscience  that  shall  decide  accord- 
ing to  the  real  qualities  of  things  ; that  to  this  vast 
attainment  some  adequate  knowledge  of  the  real 
qualities  of  the  things  which  are  to  be  subjected  to 
its  inspection  is  indispensable  ; that  if  the  matter  to 
be  judged  of  is  any  thing  so  large,  complex,  and  con- 
ventional as  the  duty  of  the  citizen,  or  the  public 
man,  to  the  State  ; the  duty  of  preserving  or  destroy- 
ing the  order  of  things  in  which  we  are  born ; the 
duty  of  executing  or  violating  one  of  the  provisions 
of  organic  law  which  the  country,  having  a wide  and 
clear  view  before  and  after,  had  deemed  a needful  in- 
strumental means  for  the  preservation  of  that  order  ; 
that  then  it  is  not  enough  to  relegate  the  citizen,  or 
the  public  man,  to  a higher  law,  and  an  interior  illu- 
mination, and  leave  him  there.  Such  discourse  is 
“ as  the  stars,  which  give  so  little  light  because  they 
are  so  high.”  He  must  agree  that  in  such  case  mo- 
rality itself  should  go  to  school.  There  must  be  sci- 
ence as  well  as  conscience,  as  old  Fuller  has  said. 
She  must  herself  learn  of  history ; she  must  learn  of 
politics  ; she  must  consult  the  builders  of  the  State, 
the  living  and  the  dead,  to  know  its  value,  its  aspects 
in  the  long  run,  on  happiness  and  morals  ; its  dan- 
gers ; the  means  of  its  preservation  ; the  maxims  and 
arts  imperial  of  its  glory.  To  fit  her  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  chdl  life,  he  will  agree  that  she  must  come 
out  for  a space  from  the  interior  round  of  emotions, 
and  subjective  states  and  contemplations,  and  intro- 
spection, “ cloistered,  unexercised,  unbreathed,”  — 
and,  carrying  with  her  nothing  but  her  tenderness, 


328 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


her  scrupulosity,  and  her  love  of  truth,  survey  the 
objective  realities  of  the  State ; ponder  thoughtfully 
on  the  complications,  and  impediments,  and  antago- 
nisms which  make  the  noblest  politics  but  an  aspiring, 
an  approximation,  a compromise,  a type,  a shadow  of 
good  to  come,  “the  buying  of  great  blessings  at 
great  prices,”  — and  there  learn  civil  duty  secundum 
suhjectam  materiam.  “ Add  to  your  virtue  knowl- 
edge ” — or  it  is  no  virtue. 

And  now,  is  he  who  accuses  Mr.  Webster  of  “sin- 
ning against  his  own  conscience,”  quite  sure  that  he 
knows,  that  that  conscience,  — well  instructed  by 
profoundest  political  studies,  and  thoughts  of  the 
reason ; well  instructed  by  an  appropriate  moral 
institution  sedulously  applied,  did  not  commend  and 
approve  his  conduct  to  himself?  Does  he  know 
that  he  had  not  anxiously  and  maturely  studied  the 
ethics  of  the  Constitution,  and  as  a question  of  ethics, 
but  of  ethics  applied  to  a stupendous  problem  of 
practical  life,  and  had  not  become  satisfied  that  they 
were  right?  Does  he  know  that  he  had  not  done 
this,  when  his  faculties  were  all  at  their  best ; and 
his  motives  under  no  suspicion?  May  not  such  an 
inquirer,  for  aught  you  can  know,  may  not  that  great 
mind  have  verily  and  conscientiously  thought  that  he 
had  learned  in  that  investigation  many  things  ? May 
he  not  have  thought  that  he  learned,  that  the  duty 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  free  States,  in  that  day’s 
extremity,  to  the  republic,  the  duty  at  all  events 
of  statesmen  to  the  republic,  is  a little  too  large, 
and  delicate,  and  difficult,  to  be  all  comprehended 
in  the  single  emotion  of  compassion  for  one  class 
of  persons  in  the  commonwealth,  or  in  carrying  out 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 


329 


the  single  principle  of  abstract,  and  natural,  and 
violent  justice  to  one  class?  May  he  not  have 
thought  that  he  found  there  some  stupendous  exem- 
plifications of  what  we  read  of,  in  books  of  casuistry, 
the  “ dialectics  of  conscience,”  as  conflicts  of  duties  ; 
such  things  as  the  conflicts  of  the  greater  with  the 
less ; conflicts  of  the  attainable  with  the  visionary ; 
conflicts  of  the  real  with  the  seeming ; arid  may  he 
not  have  been  soothed  to  learn  that  the  evil  which 
he  found  in  this  part  of  the  Constitution  was  the 
least  of  two ; was  unavoidable ; was  compensated ; 
was  justified ; was  commanded,  as  by  a voice  from 
the  Mount,  by  a more  exceeding  and  enduring  good  ? 
May  he  not  have  thought  that  he  had  learned,  that 
the  grandest,  most  difficult,  most  pleasing  to  God, 
of  the  achievements  of  secular  wisdom  and  philan- 
thropy, is  the  building  of  a State ; that  of  the  first 
class  of  grandeur  and  difficulty,  and  acceptableness 
to  Him,  in  this  kind,  was  the  building  of  our  own : 
that  unless  everybody  of  consequence  enough  to  be 
heard  of  in  the  age  and  generation  of  Washington, — 
unless  that  whole  age  and  generation  were  in  a con- 
spiracy to  cheat  themselves,  and  history,  and  pos- 
terity, a certain  policy  of  concession  and  forbearance 
of  region  to  region,  was  indispensable  to  rear  that 
master  work  of  man  : and  that  that  same  policy  of 
concession  and  forbearance  is  as  indispensable,  more 
so,  now,  to  afford  a rational  ground  of  hope  for  its 
preservation  ? May  he  not  have  thought  that  he  had 
learned  that  the  obligation,  if  such  in  any  sense  you 
may  call  it,  of  one  State  to  allow  itself  to  become  an 
asjdum  for  those  flying  from  slavery  into  another 
State,  was  an  obligation  of  benevolence,  of  humanity 


330 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


only,  not  of  justice ; that  it  must,  therefore,  on  eth- 
ical principles,  be  exercised  under  all  the  limita- 
tions which  regulate  and  condition  the  benevolence  of 
States ; that  therefore  each  is  to  exercise  it  in  strict 
subordination  to  its  own  interests,  estimated  by  a 
Mdse  statesmanship,  and  a well-instructed  public  con- 
science ; that  benevolence  itself,  even  its  ministra- 
tions of  mere  good-will,  is  an  affair  of  measure  and 
of  proportions  ; and  must  choose  sometimes  between 
the  greater  good  and  the  less ; that  if,  to  the  highest 
degree,  and  widest  diffusion  of  human  happiness,  a 
Union  of  States  such  as  ours,  some  free,  some  not 
so,  was  necessary ; and  to  such  Union  the  Constitu- 
tion was  necessary ; and  to  such  a Constitution  this 
clause  was  necessary,  humanity  itself  prescribes  it, 
and  presides  in  it?  May  he  not  have  thought  that 
he  learned  that  there  are  proposed  to  humanity  in 
this  world  many  fields  of  beneficent  exertion ; some 
larger,  some  smaller,  some  more,  some  less  expensive 
and  profitable  to  till ; that  among  these  it  is  always 
lawful,  and  often  indispensable  to  make  a choice ; 
that  sometimes,  to  acquire  the  right  or  the  ability  to 
labor  in  one,  it  is  needful  to  covenant  not  to  invade 
another ; and  that  such  covenant,  in  partial  restraint, 
rather  in  reasonable  direction  of  philanthropy,  is 
good  in  the  forum  of  conscience ; and  setting  out 
witli  these  very  elementary  maxims  of  practical 
morals,  may  he  not  have  thought  that  he  learned 
from  the  careful  study  of  the  facts  of  our  history  and 
opinions,  that  to  acquire  the  power  of  advancing  the 
dearest  interests  of  man,  through  generations  count- 
less, by  that  uneqiialled  security  of  peace  and  pro- 
gress, the  Union;  the  power  of  advancing  the  interest 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


331 


of  each  State,  each  region,  each  relation  — the  slave 
and  the  master;  the  power  of  subjecting  a whole 
continent  all  astir,  and  on  fire  with  the  emulation  of 
young  republics;  of  subjecting  it,  through  ages  of 
liousehold  calm,  to  the  sweet  influences  of  Christ- 
ianity, of  cidture,  of  the  great,  gentle,  and  sure  re- 
former, time  ; that  to  enable  us  to  do  this,  to  enable  us 
to  grasp  this  boundless  and  ever-renewing  harvest  of 
philanthropy,  it  would  have  been  a good  bargain  — 
that  humanity  herself  would  have  approved  it  — to 
have  bound  ourselves  never  so  much  as  to  look  across 
the  line  into  the  enclosure  of  Southern  municipal  sla- 
very ; certainly  never  to  enter  it ; still  less,  still  less,  to 

“ Pluck  its  berries  harsh  and  crude, 

And  with  forced  fingers  rude 

Shatter  its  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year.” 

Until  the  accuser  who  charges  him,  now  that  he  is 
in  his  grave,  with  “ having  sinned  against  his  con- 
science,” will  assert  that  the  conscience  of  a public  man 
may  not,  must  not,  be  instructed  by  profound  knowl- 
edge of  the  vast  subject-matter  with  which  public  life 
is  conversant  — even  as  the  conscience  of  the  mariner 
may  be  and  must  be  instructed  by  the  knowledge  ot 
navigation;  and  that  of  the  pilot  by  the  knowledge 
of  the  depths  and  shallows  of  the  coast;  and  that  of 
the  engineer  of  the  boat  and  the  train,  by  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  capacities  of  his  mechanism  to  achieve  a 
proposed  velocity ; and  will  assert  that  he  is  certain 
that  the  consummate  science  of  our  great  statesman 
was  felt  hy  himself  to  prescribe  to  his  morality  another 
conduct  than  that  which  he  adopted,  and  that  he 
thus  consciously  outraged  that  “ sense  of  duty  which 


332 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTETl. 


pursues  us  ever,”  — is  he  not  inexcusable,  whoever  he 
is,  that  so  judges  another? 

But  it  is  time  that  this  eulogy  was  spoken.  My 
heart  goes  back  into  the  coffin  there  with  him,  and  I 
would  pause.  I went  — it  is  a day  or  two  since  — 
alone,  to  see  again  the  home  which  he  so  dearly 
loved,  the  chamber  where  he  died,  the  grave  in 
which  they  laid  him  — all  habited  as  when 

“ His  look  drew  audience  still  as  night, 

Or  summer’s  noontide  air,” 

till  the  heavens  be  no  more.  Throughout  that  spa 
cious  and  calm  scene  all  things  to  the  eye  showed  at 
first  unchanged.  The  books  in  the  library,  the  por- 
traits, the  table  at  which  he  wrote,  the  scientific 
culture  of  the  land,  the  course  of  agricultural  occu- 
pation, the  coming-in  of  harvests,  fruit  of  the  seed 
his  own  hand  had  scattered,  the  animals  and  imple- 
ments of  husbandry,  the  trees  planted  by  him  in 
lines,  in  copses,  in  orchards,  by  thousands,  the  seat 
under  the  noble  elm  on  which  he  used  to  sit  to  feel 
the  south-west  wind  at  evening,  or  hear  the  breath- 
ings of  the  sea,  or  the  not  less  audible  music  of  the 
starry  heavens,  all  seemed  at  first  unchanged.  The 
sun  of  a bright  day  from  which,  however,  something 
of  the  fervors  of  midsummer  were  wanting,  fell  tem- 
perately on  them  all,  filled  the  air  on  all  sides  with 
the  utterances  of  life,  and  gleamed  on  the  long  line 
of  ocean.  Some  of  those  whom  on  earth  he  loved 
best,  still  were  there.  The  great  mind  still  seemed 
to  preside ; the  great  presence  to  be  with  you ; you 
might  expect  to  hear  again  the  rich  and  playful  tones 
of  the  voice  of  the  old  hospitality.  Yet  a moment 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


333 


more,  and  all  the  scene  took  on  the  aspect  of  one 
great  monument,  insci’ibed  with  his  name,  and  sacred 
to  his  memory.  And  such  it  shall  be  in  all  the  fu- 
ture of  America  ! The  sensation  of  desolateness,  and 
loneliness,  and  darkness,  with  which  you  see  it  now, 
will  pass  away  ; the  sharp  grief  of  love  and  friendship 
will  become  soothed ; men  will  repair  thither  as  they 
are  wont  to  commemorate  the  great  days  of  history ; 
the  same  glance  shall  take  in,  and  the  same  emotions 
shall  greet  and  bless,  the  Harbor  of  the  Pilgrims  and 
the  Tomb  of  Webster. 


334 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


SPEECH  BEFORE  THE  YOUNG  MEN’S  WHIG 
CLUB  OF  BOSTON,  ON  THE  ANNEXATION 
OF  TEXAS. 

DELIVERED  IN  THE  TREMONT  TEMPLE,  AUGUST  19,  1844. 


[The  meeting  having  been  called  to  order  by  Charles  Francis 
Adams,  President  of  the  Club,  Mr.  Choate  was  introduced.  He 
came  forward  and  spoke  as  follows  : ] 

Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen,  — 

I regard  the  approaching  election  as  one  of  more 
interest  to  the  whole  country,  and  to  the  States  of 
the  North  in  a preeminent  degree,  than  any  which 
has  preceded  it.  The  peculiarity  of  this  election  is, 
that  while  it  involves  all  the  questions  of  mere  policy, 
which  are  ever  suspended  on  the  choice  of  a president, 
— questions  of  the  currency,  of  the  lands,  of  internal 
improvements,  of  protection,  of  foreign  policy,  and  all 
else ; while  it  involves  in  its  broadest  extent  the 
question,  how  shall  the  nation  he  governed?  — it  in- 
volves— the  first  presidential  election  that  has  done 
so  — the  further,  more  fundamental,  and  more  start- 
ling question,  what  shall  the  nation  he  ; who  shall  the 
nation  he ; ivhere  shall  the  nation  he ; who,  what, 
and  where,  is,  and  is  to  be,  our  country  itself?  Is  it 
to  be  any  longer  the  Union  which  we  have  known  ; 
which  we  have  loved,  to  which  we  have  been  accus- 
tomed ? — or  is  it  to  be  dissolved  altogether  ? or  is  it 


THE  ANNEXATION  OE  TEXAS. 


335 


to  be  a new  one,  enlarged  by  the  annexation  of  a 
territory  out  of  which  forty  States  of  the  size  of 
Massachusetts  might  be  constructed  ; a territory  not 
appended  equally  to  the  East,  the  West,  the  Centre, 
and  the  South ; not  appended  equally  to  the  slave 
States  and  the  free  States ; to  the  agricultural  and 
the  planting  ; to  the  localities  of  free  trade  and  the 
localities  of  protection ; not  so  appended  as  to  work 
an  equal  and  impartial  enlargement  and  assistance  to 
each  one  of  those  various  and  heterogeneous  elements 
of  interest  and  sentiment  and  position  out  of  whose 
struggle  comes  the  peace,  out  of  whose  dissonance 
comes  the  harmony,  of  our  system ; — not  so,  but 
appended  in  one  vast  accession  to  one  side,  one 
region,  one  interest,  of  the  many  which  compose  the 
State ; so  appended  as  to  disturb  the  relations  of  the 
parts  ; to  change  the  seat  of  the  centre  ; to  counteract 
the  natural  tendencies  of  things  ; to  substitute  a revo- 
lution of  violent  and  morbid  policy  in  place  of  the 
slow  and  safe  action  of  nature,  habit,  and  business, 
under  a permanent  law ; so  appended,  in  short,  as  not 
merely  to  make  a small  globe  into  a larger  one,  but 
to  alter  the  whole  figure  of  the  body ; to  vary  the 
shape  and  the  range  of  its  orbit ; to  launch  it  forth  on 
a new  highway  of  the  heavens  ; to  change  its  day  and 
night,  its  seed-time  and  harvest,  its  solar  year,  the 
great  cycle  of  its  duration  itself. 

This  it  is  that  gives  to  this  election  an  interest 
peculiar  and  transcendent.  It  is  a question,  not  what 
the  policy  of  the  nation  shall  be,  — but  what,  who, 
where,  shall  the  nation  he ! It  is  not  a question 
of  national  politics,  but  of  national  identity.  For 
even  if  the  Union  shall  survive  the  annexation  of 


336 


TPIE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


Texas,  and  the  discussions  of  annexation,  it  will  be  a 
new,  a changed,  another  Union,  — not  this.  It  will 
be  changed,  not  by  time,  which  changes  all  things,  — 
man,  monuments,  states,  the  great  globe  itself ; not 
by  time,  but  by  power  : not  by  imperceptible  degrees, 
but  in  a day ; not  by  a successive  growth,  unfolded 
and  urged  forward  by  an  organic  law,  an  implanted 
force,  a noiseless  and  invisible  nutrition  from  beneath 
and  from  without,  of  which  every  region,  every  State, 
takes  the  I’isk ; but  by  the  direct  action  of  govern- 
ment— arbitrary,  violent,  and  unjust  — of  which  no 
part  has  ever  agreed  to  take  the  risk.  It  is  to  this 
element  in  the  present  election,  the  annexation  of 
Texas,  that  I wish  to-night,  passing  over  all  the  rest, 
to  direct  your  attention. 

I shall  consume  but  little  of  the  time  of  such  an 
assembly  as  this,  in  attempting  to  prove  that  the 
success  or  failure  of  this  enterprise  of  annexation  is 
suspended  — for  the  present  — perhaps  for  our  day  — 
on  the  result  of  the  pending  election.  You,  at  least, 
have  no  doubt  on  this  point.  Is  there  one  man  now 
before  me,  in  the  first  place,  who  does  not  believe, 
or  who  does  not  greatly  and  rationally  fear,  that  if 
Mr.  Polk  is  the  next  president,  Texas  will  come  in  — 
under  the  unostentatious,  and  not  so  -sery  terrible  form  , 
of  a territory,  of  course,  in  the  first  instance  — in 
twelve  months,  unless  some  great  and  extraordinary 
interposition  of  the  people  should  prevent  it?  Does 
any  one  — if  such  an  one  may  be  supposed  among  you 
to-night  — who,  opposed  to  Texas,  as  you  are,  has  yet 
a hankering  for  Mr.  Polk,  and  means  to  vote  for  him, 
if  he  can  obtain  the  consent  of  his  conscience  — who 
wants  to  vote  for  Mr.  Polk,  but  shrinks  from  the 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


337 


idea  of  promoting  annexation  — does  any  such  one 
say,  Oh,  it  doesn’t  follow  that  if  he  is  chosen,  Texas 
will  be  annexed  ? Be  it  so  ; hut  does  it  not  increase 
the  chances  of  annexation  ? Does  it  not  tremendously 
enhance  the  difficulties  of  resistance  ? Does  it  not 
at  least  expose  you  to  the  terrible  hazard  of  being 
compelled,  hereafter,  to  encounter,  by  memorial,  by 
convention,  by  remonsti’ance,  by  extreme  and  extraor- 
dinary action,  that  which  you  can  now,  peaceably, 
innocently,  seasonably  anticipate  and  prevent  at  the 
polls  ? Does  not  every  stock-jobber,  and  land-jobber, 
and  flesh-jobber,  who  clamors  for  annexation,  under- 
stand perfectly,  that  he  aids  his  objects  by  choosing 
INIr.  Polk?  Are  not  those  honest  gentlemen  all  on 
his  side,  and  do  they  not  well  know  what  they  are 
about?  Does  not  Mr.  Polk  come  in  — if  he  comes  — 
pledged  to  annex  if  he  can,  and  determined  to  do  it 
if  he  can  ? Does  he  not  come  in  pledged  and  deter- 
mined to  put  in  requisition  the  whole  vast  power  of 
the  Executive  — the  whole  vast  power  of  the  flushed 
party  that  elects  him,  and  to  effect  annexation?  Is 
any  man  foolish  enough  to  deny  that  Mr.  Van  Buren 
was  east  overboard,  and  Mr.  Polk  nominated,  ex- 
pressly and  solely  that  the  candidate  might  be,  as 
they  exquisitely  express  it,  “ Texas  to  the  back- 
bone?” — And  how  can  you  suppose  that,  uoniinated 
for  this  very  purpose,  elected  for  this  very  purpose, 
he  will  do  nothing  to  accomplish  it?  Why,  if  he 
^should  be  disposed  to  do  nothing,  do  you  think  that 
a party  or  a faction,  strong  enough  to  go  into  a 
National  Convention,  and  there  trample  instructions 
under  foot ; strong  enough  to  force  upon  the  body  an 
audacious,  not  very  democratic  rule  of  proceeding, 

22 


338 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


which  put  it  out  of  the  power  of  a majority  to  nomi- 
nate the  choice  of  a majority ; strong  enough  to  laugh 
Colonel  Benton  and  Mr.  Wright  in  the  face  ; strong 
enough,  not  merely  to  divide  Mr.  Butler’s  last  crust 
with  him,  but  to  snatch  the  whole  of  it ; strong  enough 
to  ejaculate  Mr.  Van  Buren  out  of  the  window  — 
under  whom  they  had  once  triumphed  — on  whom 
they  rallied  again  in  six  months  after  the  defeat  of 
1840,  and  who  had  been  their  candidate  as  notoriously 
and  avowedly  as  Mr.  Clay  had  been  ours — and  of 
whom  no  man  of  any  party  will  deny,  that  in  point 
of  accomplishment  and  talent  and  experience  of  pub- 
lic affairs,  he  is  imtneasurably  Mr.  Polk’s  superior  ; 
strong  enough  to  have  dissolved  that  convention  in  a 
half  an  hour,  had  it  not  conceded  their  utmost  de- 
mands— ruining  if  they  could  not  rule;  — if  Mr, 
Polk  should  be  disposed  to  do  nothing,  do  you  believe 
such  a party,  or  such  a faction  as  this,  would  permit 
him  to  do  nothing?  No.  No.  Desperately,  weakly, 
fatally,  does  he  deceive  himself  who  will  not  see,  that 
every  thing  which  an  Executive,  elected  expressly  to 
do  this  deed,  can  do,  will  be  done,  and  done  at  once  ! 
He  will  put  it  forward  in  his  very  first  message.  He 
will  put  it  forward  as  the  one,  grand  measure  of  his 
party,  and  of  his  administration.  Nothing  will  be 
left  unstirred  to  effect  it.  The  farewell  words  of 
General  Jackson  will  be  rung  in  admiring  and  sub- 
servient ears.  Ay,  that  drum  shall  be  beaten,  which 
might  call  the  dead  of  all  his  battles  to  the  “ midnight 
review,”  in  shadowy  files ! The  measure  will  not  be 
attempted  again,  in  the  first  instance,  in  the  form  of 
a treaty,  requiring  two  thirds  of  the  senate,  but  in  the 
form  of  a law,  requiring  a majority  of  only  one.  Do 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


339 


you  say  such  a majority  cannot  be  commanded  ? Do 
not  be  too  sure  of  that.  I pray  you,  give  no  vote,  with- 
hold no  vote,  on  such  a speculation  as  that.  Do  not, 
because  President  Tyler  has  not  been  able  to  com- 
mand a majority  — President  Tjder,  without  a party, 
with  one  whole  division  of  the  Democratic  party,  with 
Colonel  Benton  and  Mr.  Wright  at  its  head,  against 
him  ; with  the  Southern  Whigs,  under  the  seasonable 
and  important  lead  of  Mr.  Clay,  against  him  to  a man 
— do  not,  because  under  these  special  and  temporary 
circumstances,  he  has  not  been  able  to  obtain  a ma- 
jority, therefore,  lay  the  flattering  unction  to  your 
soul,  that  when  a president  who  has  a party,  and  that 
party  a majority  of  the  people,  flushed  with  a recent 
victory  won  on  this  precise  issue,  shall  try  his  hand 
at  the  business  ; when  Colonel  Benton  — the  tempo- 
rary and  special  circumstances  of  his  recent  resistance 
having  subsided  — shall  resume  his  natural  and  earlier 
position  ; and  “ La  Salle”  and  “ Americanus  ” shall 
be  himself  again ; when  Southern  Whigs,  no  longer 
rallying  to  the  lead  of  Mr.  Clay,  shall  resume  their 
natural  position,  or  shall  divide  on  the  question  ; when 
the  whole  tactics  of  party,  the  united  or  general 
strength  of  the  South,  the  vast  and  multiform  influ- 
ence of  a strong  Executive  shall  be  combined ; when 
the  measure  comes  to  be  pressed,  under  every  specious 
name,  by  aid  of  every  specious  topic  of  patriotism  and 
aggrandizement ; when,  if  any  one,  or  two,  or  ten,  or 
twenty  members  of  congress  should  manifest  symp- 
toms of  recusanc}^  or  should  try  the  effect  of  a little 
“ sweet,  reluctant,  amorous  delay,”  the  weird  sisters 
of  ambitious  hearts  shall  play  before  their  eyes  images 
of  foreign  missions,  and  departments,  and  benches  of 


340 


THE  ANNEXATION  OE  TEXAS. 


justice  — do  not  deceive  yourselves  into  the  belief 
that  the  majority  of  one  will  not  be  secured.  I speak 
now  of  the  admission  of  Texas  as  a mere  territory. 
The  erection  of  that  territory  into  States  will  be  a 
very  different  undertaking  — later,  less  promising,  a 
far  more  dreadful  trial  of  the  ties  of  the  Union.  Of 
that  I have  something  to  say  hereafter ; but  I have 
no  doubt  whatever,  and  I feel  it  to  be  an  urgent  duty 
to  declare  it,  that  the  territory,  as  territory^  will  be 
admitted  in  twelve  months  after  Mr.  Polk’s  election, 
unless  some  extraordinary  interposition  of  the  people, 
on  which  I dare  not  speculate,  shall  prevent  it. 

[Mr.  Choate  then  proceeded  to  observe  upon  a letter,  which 
he  had  read  in  the  “ National  Intelligencer,”  signed  by  seven 
pronxinent  members  of  the  Democratic  party  in  New  York,  in- 
cluding the  accomplished  editor  of  the  “ Evening  Post,”  in  which 
the  writers  declare  their  purpose  of  supporting  Mr.  Polk,  but 
recommend  the  election  of  members  of  congress  “ who  will  re- 
ject the  unwarrantable  scheme  now  pressed  on  the  country.” 
He  remarked  on  the  concessions  of  the  letter,  to  wit  : “ that  the 
Baltimore  convention  had  placed  the  Democratic  party  at  the 
North  in  a position  of  great  difficulty  ; ” that  it  exposed  the  party 
to  the  constant  taunt  “ that  the  convention  rejected  Mr.  Van  Duren 
and  nominated  Mr.  Polk,  for  reasons  connected  with  the  immedi- 
ate annexation  of  Texas “ that  it  went  still  further  and  inter- 
polated into  the  party  creed  a new  doctrine,  hitherto  unknown 
among  us,  — at  war  with  some  of  our  established  principles,  and 
abhorrent  to  the  opinions  and  feelings  of  a great  majority  of 
Northern  freemen  ! ” And  he  doubted  whether  a State  which 
should  give  its  vote  for  a president  nominated  solely  for  the  very 
purpose  of  annexing  Texas  would  or  could,  in  the  same  breath, 
elect  members  of  congress  to  go  and  defeat  the  “ scheme,”  — 
'•'■unwarrantable”  enough,  no  doubt,  but  yet  the  precise  and 
single  “scheme”  which  Mr.  Polk  was  brought  forward  to  ac- 
complish, — and  whether  they,  or  such  as  they,  who  surrendered 
to  the  candidate  at  Baltimore,  would  be  very  likely  to  beard  and 
bafiie  the  incumbent  at  Washington.  He  then  resumed  :] 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


341 


The  election  of  Mr.  Polk,  then,  will,  or  may  prob- 
ably, annex  Texas  as  a territory.  The  election  of  Mr. 
Clay  defeats  or  postpones  it  indefinitely.  Some  per- 
sons pretend  to  doubt,  or  at  least  seem  to  deny  this. 
But  do  they  do  him,  themselves,  and  the  great  sub- 
ject, justice  ? Read  his  letter  upon  this  subject ; 
observe  the  broad  and  permanent  grounds  of  exclu- 
sion which  he  there  sketches ; advert  to  the  well- 
weighed  declaration,  that  so  long  as  any  considerable 
opposition  to  the  measure  shall  be  manifested,  he  will 
resist  it ; and  you  cannot  fail  to  see  that  unless  you 
yourselves,  — unless  Massachusetts  and  Vermont  and 
Ohio,  — should  withdraw  their  opposition,  for  his 
term  at  least,  you  are  safe,  and  all  are  safe.  That 
letter,  in  my  judgment,  makes  him  a title  to  every 
anti-Texas  vote  in  America.  The  circumstances 
under  which  it  was  given  to  the  world,  I happened 
well  to  know.  It  was  before  either  convention  had 
assembled  at  Baltimore.  It  was  as  yet,  to  me  at  least, 
uncertain  what  ground  Mr.  Van  Buren  would  take. 
Warm  friends  of  Mr.  Clay  in  congress  would  have 
dissuaded  him  from  immediate  publication.  They 
feared  its  effect  even  on  the  Whig  convention  itself ; 
they  feared  its  wider  and  more  permanent  effect. 
Wait  a little,  they  said.  Feel  the  pulse  of  the  dele- 
gates as  they  come  to  Washington.  Attend  for  a few 
days  the  rising  voice  of  the  general  press  of  the  South. 
He  rejected  these  counsels  of  indecision,  and  directed 
it  to  be  given  to  the  country.  In  my  judgment,  that 
act  saved  the  country.  It  fixed  and  rallied  the  uni- 
versal Whig  opinion  upon  this  subject  instantly,  and 
everywhere.  It  suspended  the  warm  feelings  of  the 
South,  until  its  sober  second  thought  could  discern, 


342 


THE  ANNEXATION  OE  TEXAS. 


as  now  it  has  begun  to  discern,  that  fair  and  tempting 
as  this  forbidden  fruit  shows  to  the  sense,  it  brings  with 
it  death,  and  all  woe,  with  loss  of  Eden.  The  position 
which  Mr.  Clay  held,  — the  inhabitant  of  a slave 
State  ; his  birthplace  Virginia  ; the  part  he  transacted 
in  the  Missouri  controversy ; his  known  and  intense 
Americanism  of  feeling,  eager  enough,  eager  in  the 
man  as  in  the  boy,  to  lay  hold  of  every  occasion  to 
carry  up  his  country  to  the  loftiest  summit  of  a dura- 
ble and  just  glory,  and  therefore  not  disinclined  to 
mere  enlargement  of  territory,  if  the  acquisition  had 
been  just,  prudent,  equitable,  honorable  — this  felic- 
ity of  position  enabled  him  to  do  what  few  other 
men  of  even  equal  capacity  and  patriotism  could  do ; 
enabled  him  to  quench  in  the  spark,  if  now  the  peo- 
ple sustain  him,  this  stupendous  conception  of  mad- 
ness and  of  guilt. 

If  the  election  of  Mr.  Polk,  then,  may  annex  Texas, 
and  that  of  Mr.  Clay  defeat  or  indefinitely  postpone 
it,  what  are  the  moral  duties  of  the  opponents  of 
annexation,  of  all  parties?  You  are  a Democrat,  for 
example,  and  you  would,  on  every  other  account  than 
this  of  Texas,  desire  the  success  of  the  Democratic 
ticket.  You  are  an  Abolitionist,  and  without  ex- 
pecting the  success  of  your  ticket,  you  would  desire 
to  give  it  the  utmost  practicable  appearance  of 
growth  and  strength.  But  can  you,  in  sense  and 
fairness,  say,  that  all  the  other  good  which,  even  on 
your  principles,  the  election  of  Mr.  Polk,  or  the 
exhibition  of  a growing  vote  for  Mr.  Birney,  would 
accomplish,  or  all  the  other  evils  which  either  of  these 
results  would  prevent,  would  compensate  for  the 
various  and  the  transcendent  evil  of  annexation? 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


343 


Can  yon  doubt,  when  you  calmly  weigh  all  the  other 
good  which  you  achieve  by  effecting  your  object  against 
the  mischief  you  do  by  annexation,  — can  you  doubt 
that  the  least  thing  which  you  owe  your  conscience, 
your  country,  the  utmost  which  pride  and  consistency 
have  a right  to  exact  of  you,  is  neutrality  ? You  will 
not  say,  for  instance,  that  you  believe  that  a mere 
postponement  of  Democratic  ascendency  for  five 
years  will  permanently  and  irreparably  impair  the 
Constitution  and  the  prosperity  of  our  country,  or 
bereave  her  of  a ray  of  her  glory  ? She  can  endure 
so  long,  even  you  do  not  doubt,  the  evil  of  the  politics 
which  you  disapprove.  She  can  afford  to  wait  so  long, 
even  you  will  admit,  for  the  politics  which  you  prefer. 
But  the  evil  of  annexation  is  as  immediate,  as  irre- 
trievable, and  as  eternal  as  it  is  enormous  ! Time, 
terms  of  presidential  office,  ages,  instead  of  healing, 
will  but  display,  will  but  exasperate,  the  immedicable 
wound  ! Yes,  yes  ! He  who,  some  space  hereafter  — 
how  long,  how  brief  that  space,  you  may  not  all  taste 
of  death  until  you  know  — he  who  — another  Thucy- 
dides, another  Sismondi  — shall  observe  and  shall 
paint  a Union  dissolved,  the  silver  cord  loosed,  the 
golden  bowl  broken  at  the  fountain  ; he  who  shall  ob- 
serve and  shall  paint  the  nation’s  flag  folded  mourn- 
fully, and  laid  aside  in  the  silent  chamber  where  the 
memorials  of  renown  and  grace,  now  dead,  are  gath- 
ered together  ; who  shall  record  the  ferocious  factions, 
the  profligate  ambition,  the  hot  rivalry,  the  wars  of 
hate,  the  truces  of  treachery,  — which  shall  furnish 
the  matter  of  the  history  of  alienated  States,  till  one 
after  another  burns  out  and  falls  from  its  place  on 
high, — he  shall  entitle  this  stained  and  mournful 
chapter  the  Consequences  of  Annexation. 


344 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


But  look  at  tills  business  a little  more  in  its  details. 

I will  not  move  the  question  of  its  effect  on  Ameri- 
can slavery.  Whether  it  will  transplant  the  stricken 
race  from  old  States  to  new  ; wliether  it  will  concen- 
trate it  on  a different,  larger  or  smaller  area  than  it 
now  covers,  whether  the  result  of  this  again  would  he 
to  increase  or  diminish  its  numbers,  its  sufferings,  and 
its  chances  of  ultimate  emancipation,  — this  is  a specu- 
lation from  which  I retire.  I repeat  what  I had  the 
honor  to  say  in  the  debate  on  the  treaty,  that  the 
avowed  and  the  direct  object  of  annexation  certainly  is 
to  prevent  the  abolition  of  slavery  on  a vast  region 
which  would  else  become  free.  The  immediate  effect 
intended  and  secured  in  the  first  instance,  therefore, 
certainly  is  the  diffusion  and  increase  of  slaveiy.  So 
far  we  see.  So  much  we  know.  More  than  that,  no 
man  can  be  certain  that  he  sees  or  knows.  Whether 
this  is  to  work  an  amelioration  of  the  status  of  slavery 
while  it  lasts,  or  to  shorten  its  duration,  is  in  His 
counsels,  “ who  out  of  evil  still  educes  good  in  infinite 
progression.”  The  means  we  see  are  evil.  The  first 
effect  is  evil.  The  end  is  uncertain.  But,  if  it  were 
certain  and  were  good,  we  may  not  do  evil  that  good 
may  come.  While,  therefore,  I feel  it  to  be  my  duty 
distinctly  to  say  that  I would  leave  to  the  masters  of 
slaves  every  guaranty  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
Union,  — the  Constitution  as  it  is,  the  Union  as  it  is, 
— without  which  there  is  no  security  for  you  or  for 
tliera  — no,  not  for  a day,  — I still  controvert  the 
power,  I deny  the  morality,  I tremble  for  the  conse- 
quences, of  annexing  an  acre  of  new  territory, /or  the 
mere  furfose  of  diffusing  this  great  evil,  this  great 
curse,  over  a wider  surface  of  American  earth.  Still 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


345 


less  would  I,  for  such  a purpose  merely^  lay  hold  on 
such  a territory  as  Texas,  larger  than  France,  and 
almost  as  fair ; least  of  all  now,  just  when  the  spirit 
of  liberty  is  hovering  over  it,  in  act  to  descend. 

But  trace  the  consequences  of  annexation  on  our- 
selves. First,  chief,  most  comprehensive,  and  most 
irretrievable  of  its  evils,  ivill  be  its  disastrous  aspect  on 
the  durability  of  the  Union.  Texas,  let  us  suppose, 
the  territory,  as  territory,  is  annexed.  The  war  with 
■ Mexico  is  at  an  end.  The  valor  of  the  West  has 
triumphed.  The  debt  of  the  war,  the  debt  of  Texas 
is  funded.  Time  passes.  New  states  carved  out  of 
its  ample  fields  knock  for  admission  into  the  Union. 
Do  you  consider  that  it  may  cut  up  into  forty  as 
large  as  Massachusetts?  But  suppose  twenty, fifteen, 
ten,  five,  only  — apply  one  after  another.  Is  there  a 
man,  out  of  a mad-house,  who  does  not  see  that  five, 
three,  one,  such  application  could  not  be  acted  on,  and 
either  rejected  or  granted,  without  shaking  this  gov- 
ernment to  its  foundation  ? Is  there  a man  who  does 
not  see  that  if  all  the  malice  and  all  the  ingenuity  of 
Hell  were  appealed  to,  to  devise  one  fiery  and  final 
trial  of  the  strength  of  our  American  feeling,  of  our 
fraternal  love,  of  our  appreciation  of  the  uses  of 
union,  of  all  our  bonds  of  political  brotherhood,  it 
could  contrive  no  ordeal  half  so  dreadful  as  this  ? To 
me  this  seems  so  palpable,  that  I have  doubted 
whether  Colonel  Benton  is  not  right  in  his  conjec- 
ture that  disunion  is  the  exact  object  aimed  at  by 
some  of  the  movers  of  annexation.  Certainly,  in 
looking  over  that  grim  bead-roll  of  South  Carolina 
toasts  and  dinner-speeches  which  covers  a broadside 
of  the  last  “ Intelligencer,”  it  is  quite  impossible  to 


346 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


resist  the  conclusion  that,  as  regards  some  individuals 
of  this  body  of  annexationists,  either  they  are  labor- 
ing under  very  treasonable  politics,  or  that  their 
Madeira  has  quite  too  much  brandy  in  it.  I will  say, 
too,  of  any  annexationist,  who  thinks  that  because  we 
survived  the  Missouri  question,  it  would  be  a pretty 
thing  to  move  a half-dozen  more  such  questions,  that 
he  means  to  sever  the  States,  or  is  profoundly  igno- 
rant of  the  way  by  which  they  are  to  be  kept  to- 
gether. Does  he  consider  under  what  totally  different 
circumstances  these  new  Missouri  questions  would 
break  out,  from  those  which  attended  the  old?  Does 
he  consider  that  the  territory  of  Missouri  was  already 
parcel  of  the  United  States,  and  had  been  so  for  near 
twent}"  years  ; that,  unlike  Texas,  it  had  been  annexed 
as  part  of  Louisiana,  with  no  view  at  all  to  the  diffu- 
sion and  perpetuation  of  slavery,  but  on  grounds  of 
policy  which  the  severest  moralist,  the  strictest  ex- 
pounder of-  the  Constitution,  the  mo.st  passionate 
lover  of  liberty,  might  approve ; and,  therefore,  that 
having  been  received  as  a territory  diverse  intuitu^  the 
public  sensibility  was  less  shocked  by  its  emergence 
into  a slave  State  than  now  it  would  be,  when  the 
end  and  aim  of  the  original  acquisition  is  shivery, 
wholly  slavery,  and  nothing  but  slavery  ? Does  he 
reflect  how  vast  a change  the  sentiments  of  civiliza- 
tion have  undergone  on  that  whole  subject  since 
eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  ? Does  he  remember 
that  in  that  learning  the  world  is  five  hundred  years 
older  than  it  was  then  ? Can  he  not  read  the  gather- 
ing signs  of  the  times  ? Does  he  not  mark  the  blazing 
characters  traced  by  the  bodiless  hand,  as  in  the 
unfinished  picture  ? Does  he  not  remember  what  the 


THE  AHNEXiVTION  OF  TEXAS. 


347 


nations  have  done,  and  especially  what  England  has 
done,  within  twenty  years  ? Does  he  not  see  and 
feel  that  in  that  interval  a public  opinion  has  been 
generated,  has  been  organized,  wholly  new,  aggres- 
sive, intolerant  of  the  sight,  intolerant  of  the  cry,  of 
man  in  chains  ? Does  he  not  see  and  feel  with  what 
electrical  force  and  speed  it  strikes  from  one  quarter 
of  the  globe  to  another,  and  is  spreading  to  enfold 
the  whole  civilized  world  like  an  atmosphere  ? Does 
he  think  it  wise  to  blow  such  an  atmosphere  into  a 
hurricane  of  flame  ? Does  he  rean}^  expect  to  bring 
his  five  States  into  the  Union?  Is  he  not  sure  of  fail- 
ing, and  is  he  not  seeking  a pretext  for  flying  in  a pas- 
sion ; for  complaining  that  terjitory  constitutionally 
entitled  to  admission  is  excluded,  and  thereupon  for 
retiring  from  the  Union,  if  he  can,  himself?  How- 
ever this  may  be,  I say  that  he  means  to  sever  the 
States,  or  he  is  profoundly  ignorant,  or  criminally 
reckless,  of  the  temper  and  policy  by  which  they  are 
to  be  holden  together. 

I would  have  him,  who  desires  adequately  to  com- 
prehend the  probable  influence  of  annexation  on  the 
durability  of  the  Union,  and  its  influence  on  the  tem- 
per and  feelings  of  the  States  composing  the  Union, 
one  towards  another,  to  consider  also,  whether,  over 
and  above  these  eternal  antipathies  of  liberty  and 
slavery,  which  it  must  kindle  into  inextinguishable 
flame  — whether  over  and  above  these,  this  measure 
will  not  appear,  and  ought  not  to  appear,  to  be  a 
mere  attempt  to  retain,  or  to  give,  to  one  region  and 
one  interest  of  the  republic,  an  ascendency,  to  which, 
as  against  the  others,  it  is  not  entitled  ? Is  there  not 
vast  danger  that  in  this  way  it  will  array  States,  and 


348 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


regions  of  States,  against  each  other,  on  a contest  of 
interest,  of  business,  of  relative  local  power  ? Will 
it  not  be  regarded  as  affrontive  to  the  pride,  as  a 
usurjDation  on  the  constitutional  rights,  as  menacing 
to  the  pockets,  of  portions  of  the  people  of  America, 
as  well  as  an  outrage  on  the  sentiment  of  liberty  and 
the  spirit  of  the  age  ? How  can  it  be  defended,  on 
the  principles  of  our  political  association  ? The  gen- 
eration of  our  fathers,  who  framed  the  Union,  saw  as 
well  as  we  do  the  great  natural  regional  divisions  of 
the  country.  They  foresaw,  as  well  as  we  now  see, 
that  one  of  these  regions  might  come  to  prefer  one 
system  of  industrial  governmental  policy,  and  another 
to  prefer  another ; that  one  might  incline  to  free 
trade,  and  another  to  protection ; that  one  might  a 
little  more  solicitously  favor  the  interests  of  cotton - 
planting  ; another,  those  of  navigation  ; another,  those 
of  general  agriculture  ; another,  those  of  the  mechani- 
cal and  manufacturing  arts.  They  foresaw  that  in 
tliis  way  there  might  grow  to  be  such  a thing  as  a 
Southern,  or  a Western,  or  a Central,  or  an  Eastern 
administration,  — each  of  which  should  be  a constitu- 
tional administration,  — and  yet  the  policy  of  each 
might  take  a tincture  from  the  locality  which  pre- 
dominated in  its  origin  and  composition.  They  fore- 
saw, too,  that  there  would  come  to  be  what  you  would 
call  Southern  influence  and  Western  influence  and 
Central  influence  and  Eastern  influence ; that  these 
would  strive  together,  without  rest,  for  amicable  mas- 
tery ; and  they  fondly  dreamed,  or  rationally  hoped, 
that  out  of  this  opposition  and  counteraction,  “this 
recipi’ocal  struggle  of  discordant  powers,”  might  flow 
a harmony  that  should  never  end.  They  foresaw,  too, 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


349 


that  in  the  progress  of  time  the  operation  of  natural 
causes  might  change,  and  change  often,  all  those 
relations  which  marked  the  era  of  1789.  The  young 
cotton-plant  of  the  South,  scarcely  known  to  art  or 
commerce  then,  might  place  or  might  keep  the  fair 
and  fertile  region  that  alone  produced  it,  for  ages,  at 
the  head  of  the  confederacy.  The  exhaustless  soil 
and  temperate  climate  of  the  West  might  attract  and 
seat  the  centre  of  power  there,  — on  the  impurpled 
prairie,  — by  the  shores  of  inland  oceans.  Labor  and 
liberty  and  culture  might  sometimes  win  it  back  to 
the  rock  of  Plymouth,  to  the  battle-fields  of  Bunker 
Hill  and  Bennington,  to  the  summits  of  our  granite 
mountains,  to  the  side  of  our  bridal  sea.  Of  all  these 
alternations,  they  intended  that  the  people  of  America, 
the  people  of  each  region  of  America,  should  take  the 
risk.  Of  all  these,  we  are  ready  to  take  the  risk. 
Of  all  these,  we  always  have  run  the  risk.  But  there 
is  one  thing,  of  which  the  framers  of  the  Constitution 
never  meant  that  we  or  any  region  should  take  the 
risk  ; and  that  is,  that  any  region,  any  interest,  should 
call  in  foreign  allies  to  prolong  and  augment  an  ascen- 
dency^ which,  under  the  action  of  natural  causes,  might 
he  imagined  to  he  passing  away  ! They  never  meant 
that  the  North  should  call  in  the  Canadas,  or  New- 
foundland, or  Greenland,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  giv- 
ing us  more  votes  in  congress  for  lumber  duties,  or 
potash  duties,  or  peltry  duties,  or  fishing  bounties,  or 
the  protection  of  wool.  They  never  meant  that  the 
South  should  bring  in  Mexico,  or  Cuba,  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  voting  down  the  tariff,  or  maintaining  any 
dominion  or  any  institution,  merely  because  the  broad, 
deep,  and  resistless  stream  of  time  was  threatening  to 


350 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


bear  it  silently  away.  No  ! No ! That  is  not  the 
Union  we  came  into.  That  is  not  the  race  we  set  out 
to  run.  We  agreed  to  love,  honor,  and  cherish,  a 
certain  national  identity.  We  agreed  to  place  our- 
selves in  the  power  of  a certain  national  identity. 
We  agreed  to  take  our  chance  of  any  constitutional 
administration  of  government ; any  fashion  of  poli- 
tics ; any  predominance  of  interests,  opinions,  and 
institutions,  to  which  that  might  constitutionally  sub- 
ject us.  But  we  did  not  agree  to  love  — we  did  not 
agree  to  be  governed  by  — all  creation!  We  did 
not  agree  that  the  merchants  of  Matanzas,  the  gold 
miners  of  Mexico,  the  logwood  cutters  of  Honduras, 
the  Indian  traders  of  Santa  Fe,  Coahuila,  or  Chihua- 
hua, whose  “ barbarous  appellations  ” we  can  neither 
pronounce  nor  spell,  should  make  our  laws.  Non  hceo 
in  foedera  veni!  Take  care  lest  the  people  of  all 
regions,  but  one,  should  give  the  translation,  — “We 
made  no  such  bargain,  and  we  stand  no  such  non- 
sense.” 

With  these  impressions  of  the  evils  of  annexation, 
it  is  difficult  to  suppress  a sentiment  of  indignation  at 
what  would  otherwise  deserve  nothing  but  ridicule, 
— the  reasons  which  men  give  for  this  measure,  who 
are  ashamed  or  afraid  to  give  the  true  one.  “ Texas 
is  so  fair  and  fertile,”  they  say  ; as  if  this  were  not 
just  as  good  an  argument  for  annexing  France,  — 
a better  one,  since  France,  though  not  so  large,  is 
fairer  and  more  fertile.  “ It  will  increase  our  ex- 
portations of  cotton  and  sugar  so  much,”  — as  if  we 
should  not  grasp  Egypt  and  Brazil  and  Hindostan 
on' that  reason;  as  if  Colonel  Holmes’s  letter,  just 
published,  did  not  tell  us  that  the  consumption  of 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


351 


cotton  is  already  stationary  in  England  and  France, 
and  that  the  thing  aimed  at  by  South  Carolina  is  not 
to  increase  the  supply  against  that  demand,  but  to 
increase  the  demand,  by  increasing  English  ability  to 
consume ; and  to  do  that  hy  giving  to  the  English 
manufacturers  the  market  of  America.  “ The  waters 
of  Texas  flow  into  our  Mississippi,  and  therefore  it 
would  be  impious  not  to  reunite  what  nature  had 
joined.”  Impious ! — as  if  there  would  not  be  ex- 
actly the  same  clamor  for  it,  if  its  waters  flowed  into 
I know  not  what  lake,  of  Are  or  of  death ! “ It  will 

consume  such  unknown  quantities  of  northern  manu- 
factures.” Unknown,  indeed!  as  if  we  were  quite 
so  yerdant  as  not  to  be  perfectly  aware  that  the 
precise  object  of  some  of  the  more  prominent  moyers 
of  this  business  is  to  get  Texan  votes  to  stop  your 
mills,  not  Texan  customers  to  buy  your  cloth ; that 
some  of  those  men  would  be  glad  to-day  to  see  you 
send  your  children  or  j’our  horses  to  England  to  be 
shod  ; that  what  they  notoriously  aim  at,  is  not  at  all 
an  increased  ability  to  consume  your  manufactures., 
but  an  increased  vote  against  your  tariff,  and  an 
easier  victory  over  your  labor.  “ Texas  will  admit 
British  goods,  duty  free,  or  under  low  duties,  and 
they  will  be  smuggled  in  such  quantities  into  the 
United  States  as  to  diminish  our  revenue,  and  evade 
our  law  of  protection  ! ” — a reason  which  I am  sorry 
to  see  receive  the  sanction  of  a convention  of  Massa- 
chusetts men,  of  whatever  politics,  — scarcely  satis- 
factory, I venture  to  conjecture,  to  any  manly-minded 
and  intelligent  member  of  that  body  of  our  Demo- 
cratic fellow-citizens,  who  have  just  made  their  nomi- 
nation of  governor ; as  if  Texas,  starved  to  death. 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


crushed,  paralyzed,  for  want  of  money  — Texas,  al- 
most compelled  to  let  go  the  sweet  and  proud  boon 
of  national  independence,  because  she  has  not  the 
financial  ability  to  assert  her  title  to  it  — as  if  she 
can  afford  to  admit  English  goods  free  of  duty,  or 
under  duties  so  far  below  our  own  as  to  warrant 
such  an  absurd  apprehension ; as  if  all  Louisiana 
and  Arkansas  and  Missouri  were  going  to  form  a 
great  copartnership  of  smuggling  with  Yorkshire  and 
Liverpool ; as  if,  on  this  hypothesis,  you  must  not 
have  Mexico  too,  for  she  is  under  English  influence, 
and  will  lend  a hand  to  this  hopeful  scheme  of  turn- 
ing the  flank  of  the  tariff;  and  Canada,  — which  is 
England  herself,  — in  direct  contact  with  more  States 
than  Texas  touches  ; — nay,  as  if  you  must  not,  as  a 
good  Alabama  Whig  said,  make  up  your  minds  to 
have  “ no  outside  row  at  all,  for  the  squirrels  to 
eat ; ” and  so  strike  dead  to  the  water  all  round,  at 
once,  not  forgetting  your  right  to  a marine  league, 
of  say  a couple  of  thousand  miles  long,  to  prevent 
hovering  on  your  coasts. 

No,  Fellow-citizens,  there  is  no  case  made  for  an- 
nexation at  all.  Let  him  who  is  making  his  mind  up 
on  that  subject,  and  who  desires  to  do  so,  not  in  the 
small  spirit  of  a narrow  and  local  selflshness,  but  as 
a patriot,  a Unionist,  a statesman,  a Christian,  a lover 
of  his  kind ; let  him  unroll  the  map  of  our  territory 
as  now  we  hold  it,  broad,  boundless  as  an  ocean ; let 
him,  on  that  map,  observe  how  that  territory  spreads 
itself  out  from  the  St.  John  to  the  Sabine,  eight  and 
twenty  hixndred  miles  of  coast,  and  inland  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  ay,  to  the  great  tranquil  sea, 
more  than  thirty-flve  hundred  ' miles  — wider  than 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


353 


the  vast  Atlantic,  let  him  mark  how  it  extends 
through  twenty  parallels  of  latitude  and  thirty  of 
longitude,  through  all  climates  and  all  soils  ; let  him 
observe,  as  he  descends  from  North  to  South,  how  it 
successively  displays  a sample  and  a rival  of  all  the 
great  productions  and  all  the  great  productive  re- 
gions of  the  globe,  — pine  forests,  like  those  of 
Norway;  wheat-fields  outmeasuring  those  of  Poland; 
pastures  ampler  and  fairer  than  the  shepherds  of 
England  and  Spain  ever  saw ; cotton,  rice,  for  the 
world,  though  Egypt  and  India  were  smitten  with 
instant  and  perpetual  sterility ; let  him  reflect  that 
there  are  limits  of  a nation’s  territorial  extent,  which 
the  laws  of  nature  and  of  man  do  not  permit  them 
to  transcend,  beyond  which  the  warm  tides  of  the 
national  heart  cannot  be  propelled,  or  cannot  flow 
back,  — beyond  which  unity,  identity,  nationalit}', 
are  dissolved  and  dissipated ; and  then  let  him  bear 
in  mind  that  our  territory  is  already  three  times 
larger  than  England,  Spain,  France,  and  Italy,  all 
put  together,  — larger  than  the  Roman  Empire  in  its 
zenith ; and  he  will  be  prepared  to  say  whether,  with 
or  without  the  cost  of  a war ; with  or  without  the 
violation  of  treaties ; with  or  without  the  approval  of 
the  moral  judgments  of  the  world ; irrespective  of  all 
influence  upon  his  own  State,  or  region  of  States,  he 
thinks  it  well  to  add  to  this  vast  region  another, 
forty  times  larger  than  Massachusetts,  — larger  than 
France,  for  the  purpose  of  perpetuating  slavery,  on 
a soil  certain  otherwise,  and  speedily,  to  be  free. 
How  far  wiser,  more  innocent,  more  glorious,  to 
improve  what  we  have ; to  fell  our  forests ; to  con- 
struct our  railroads ; to  reclaim  our  earth ; to  fit  it 


354 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


all  up  to  be  the  spacious  and  beautiful  abode  of  one 
harmonious  family  of  Man  ! 

And,  now,  Fellow-citizens,  if  these  are  the  evils  of 
annexation ; and  if  the  election  of  Mr.  Polk  will,  or 
probably  may,  effect  annexation,  and  that  of  Mr. 
Clay  will  defeat,  or  postpone  it  indefinitely,  — what, 
I ask,  once  more,  are  the  duties  of  the  opponents  of 
this  measure,  of  all  parties?  What  are  your  moral 
duties?  If  the  mischiefs  of  Mr.  Polk’s  administra- 
tion would  agree  to  take  any  shape  but  this  ; if  they 
were  certain  not  to  go  beyond  four  years  of  disordered 
currency  ; interrupted  improvements  ; indiscreet  dis- 
position of  the  lands ; unstable  and  insufficient  pro- 
tection of  labor  — if  this  were  all,  — I would  not  ask 
a man — I would  not  thank  a man  to  change  or  to 
withhold  a vote.  I know  there  are  Whigs  enough, 
Whigs  from  their  mothers’  arms  — now  and  always 
such,  who,  without  the  stimulus  of  uncompromising 
hostility  to  Texas,  — without  that,  — on  a calm, 
habitual  estimate  of  the  general  politics  involved, 

■ — could  turn  Mr.  Polk  back  again  upon  the  conven- 
tion that  discovered  him,  and  win  anew  the  victory 
of  1840.  But  I acknowledge  an  earnest  desire  to  see 
“ this  unwarrantable  scheme  ” — as  the  New  York 
Democrats  have  pronounced  it  — encountered  by  an 
opposition  approaching  to  unanimity.  I should  like 
to  see  it  shamed  out  of  sight,  for  at  least  our  day. 
Why,  the  wisdom  and  patriotism  of  the  better  South 
disowns  it ! See  how  the  old  glorious  North  Caro- 
lina has  gone  into  action,  and  how  she  has  come  out 
of  it ! Hark  to  the  thunder  that  announces  the  risen 
and  triumphant  Kentucky ! Is  this  a day  for  New 
England  to  be  inactive,  or  to  be  distracted  ? Do  you 


THE  AENEXATIOH  OF  TEXAS. 


355 


need  to  be  told,  wbat  I love  not  to  dwell  or  touch 
upon,  that  if  the  designs  of  some  of  those  who  would 
annex  Texas  could  be  accomplished ; if  they  could 
succeed  in  turning  Texas  to  the  account  which 
they  dream  of ; if,  by  that  aid,  they  could  subvert 
your  industrial  policy ; could  retransfer  your  work- 
shops to  Europe ; could  prevent  the  industry  of 
America  from  doing  the  work  of  America  ; could 
suspend  these  diversified  employments,  which  de- 
velop, discipline,  occupy,  and  reward  the  universal 
faculties  of  this  community ; which  give  to  every 
taste  and  talent  the  task  best  suited  to  it ; which 
give  occupation  to  the  strong  and  weak ; the  bright 
and  the  dull ; to  both  sexes  and  to  all  ages,  and  at 
all  times,  — in  winter  and  summer;  in  wet  weather 
and  in  dry  weather ; by  daylight  and  lamplight ; to 
all  and  each, — “a  fah  clay’s  wages  for  a fair  day’s 
work  ; ” — if  they  could  strike  down  the  giant  arm  of 
Labor  helpless  to  his  side  — if  the  politics  which  you 
are  this  day  in  the  field  to  resist  could  triumph,  — do 
you  not  know  — that  even  if  the  Union  were  pre- 
served, New  England  would  be  cast  into  provincial, 
into  parochial  insignificance?  ay,  that  this  New 
England,  the  New  England  that  we  love : the  New 
England  of  our  fathers  and  of  history  — that  the 
places  which  once  knew  this  New  England  would 
know  her  no  more?  Having  a form  to  live,  she 
would  be  dead.  Having  a form  of  constitutional 
life,  the  strong,  soaring,  and  beautiful  spirit  would 
have  departed.  If  the  Union  were  preserved;  if  the 
great  constellation  still  held  on  its  journey  in  the 
sky,  these  once  jubilant  stars  of  the  morning  would 
be  silent  and  dim. 


356 


THE  ANNEXATION  OF  TEXAS. 


But  I would  rather  show  you  a loftier  motive  than 
any  impulse  of  local  interest,  or  local  affection,  or 
local  pride.  I tell  you,  FeUow-citizens  of  all  parties, 
here  and  eveiywhere,  that  if  you  love  the  Union 
as  once  you  did,  out  of  a pure  heart,  fervently ; if 
neither  the  small  gasconades  of  nullifiers,  nor  the 
gloomy  ravings  of  fanatics  have  chilled  that  sweet, 
cherished,  and  hereditary  sentiment ; if  you  yet  love 
to  tui’n  away  from  tlie  croaker  who  predicts,  the 
hypocrite  who  desires,  the  bully  who  threatens,  the 
arithmetician  who  computes,  the  traitor  who  plots, 
dissolution  of  the  Union  ; if  you  love,  turning  from 
these,  to  go  and  erect  and  refresh  your  spirits  by 
pondering  the  farewell  counsels  of  Washington,  by 
drawing  from  that  capacious  national  heart,  by  re- 
tracing that  illustrious  life, — if  you,  whoever  you 
are,  wherever  you  are,  whatever  you  are,  are  for  the 
Union  against  everybody,  for  the  Union  with  any- 
body, for  the  Union  first,  last,  and  always,  — then 
stand  by  us,  and  we  will  stand  by  you  — this  once ! 
This  once ! Another  time,  on  other  subjects,  we  can 
quarrel,  but  not  now  — not  now,  when  the  legions 
throng  up  to  the  very  walls  of  the  city  of  David,  and 
the  engines  thunder  at  its  gate.  Another  time  we 
can  sleep  on  and  take  our  rest,  but  not  now : 

Awake,  arise,  or  be  for  ever  fallen ! 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


357 


SPEECH  ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


DKLIVERED  IN  THE  MASSACHUSETTS  STATE  CONVENTIOIn, 
JULY  14,  1853. 


It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enter  at  large  on  the  discus- 
sion of  this  important  subject.  That  discussion  is 
exhausted ; and  if  it  is  not,  your  patience  is ; and  if 
not  quite  so,  you  have  arrived,  I apprehend,  each  to 
his  own  conclusion.  But  as  I had  the  honor  to  serve 
on  the  committee  to  whom  the  department  of  the 
judiciary  was  referred,  I desire  to  be  indulged  in  the 
statement  of  my  opinions,  abstaining  from  any  at- 
tempt elaborately  to  enforce  them. 

I feel  no  apprehension  that  this  body  is  about  to 
recommend  an  election  of  judges  by  the  people.  All 
appearances  ; the  votes  taken  ; the  views  disclosed  in 
debate ; the  demonstrations  of  important  men  here, 
indicate  the  contrary.  I do  not  mean  to  say  that 
such  a proposition  has  not  been  strenuously  pressed, 
and  in  good  faith ; yet,  for  reasons  which  I will  not 
consume  my  prescribed  hour  in  detailing,  there  is  no 
danger  of  it.  Whether  members  are  ready  for  such 
a thing  or  not,  they  avow,  themselves,  that  they  do 
not  think  the  people  are  ready. 

What  I most  fear  is,  that  the  deliberation  may  end 
in  limiting  the  tenure  of  judicial  office  to  a term  of 
years,  seven  or  ten ; that  in  the  result  we  shall  heai 


358 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


it  urged,  “ as  we  are  good  enough  not  to  stand  out 
for  an  election  by  the  people,  you  ought  to  he  ca- 
pable of  an  equal  magnanimity,  and  not  stand  out 
for  the  present  term  of  good  behavior ; ” and  thus 
we  shall  be  forced  into  a compromise  in  favor  of 
periodical  and  frequent  appointment,  — which  shall 
please  everybody  a little. 

I have  the  honor  to  submit  to  the  convention 
that  neither  change  is  needed.  Both  of  them,  if 
experience  may  in  the  least  degree  be  relied  on,  are 
fraught  with  evils  unnumbered.  To  hazard  either, 
would  he,  not  to  realize  the  boast  that  we  found  the 
capitol,  in  this  behalf,  brick,  and  left  it  marble  ; but 
contrariwise,  to  change  its  marble  to  brick. 

Sir,  in  this  inquiry  what  mode  of  judicial  appoint- 
ment, and  what  tenure  of  judicial  office,  you  will 
recommend  to  the  people,  I think  that  there  is  but 
one  safe  or  sensible  mode  of  proceeding,  and  that  is 
to  ascertain  what  mode  of  appointment,  and  what 
length  and  condition  of  tenure,  will  be  most  certain, 
in  the  long  run,  guiding  ourselves  by  the  lights  of  all 
the  experience  and  all  the  observation  to  which  we 
can  resort,  to  bring  and  keep  the  best  judge  upon 
the  bench  — the  best  judge  for  the  ends  of  his  great 
office.  There  is  no  other  test.  That  an  election  by 
the  people,  once  a year,  or  an  appointment  by  the 
governor  once  a year,  or  once  in  five,  or  seven,  or  ten 
years,  will  operate  to  give  to  an  ambitious  young 
lawyer  (I  refer  to  no  one  in  this  body)  a better 
chance  to  be  made  a judge  — as  the  wheel  turns 
round  — is  no  recommendation,  and  is  nothing  to  the 
purpose.  That  this  consideration  has  changed,  or 
framed,  the  constitutions  of  some  of  the  States  whose 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


359 


example  has  been  pressed  on  us,  I have  no  doubt. 
Let  it  have  no  weight  here.  We,  at  least,  hold 
that  offices,  and  most  of  all  the  judicial  office,  are 
not  made  for  incumbents  or  candidates,  but  for  the 
people ; to  establish  justice ; to  guarantee  security 
among  them.  Let  us  constitute  the  office  in  refer- 
ence to  its  ends. 

I go  for  that  system,  if  I can  find  it  or  help  find 
it,  which  gives  me  the  highest  degree  of  assurance, 
taking  man  as  he  is,  at  his  strongest  and  at  his 
weakest,  and  in  the  average  of  the  lot  of  humanity, 
that  there  shall  be  the  best  judge  on  every  bench 
of  justice  in  the  commonwealth,  through  its  succes- 
sive generations.  That  we  may  safely  adopt  such 
a system  ; that  is  to  say,  that  we  may  do  so  and 
yet  not  abridge  or  impair  or  endanger  our  popular 
polity  in  the  least  particular  ; that  we  may  secure  the 
best  possible  judge,  and  yet  retain,  ay,  help  to  per- 
petuate and  keep  in  health,  the  utmost  affluence  of 
liberty  with  which  civil  life  can  be  maintained,  I will 
attempt  to  show  hereafter.  For  the  present,  I ask, 
how  shall  we  get  and  keep  the  best  judge  for  the. 
work  of  the  judge  ? 

Well,  Sir,  before  I can  go  to  that  inquiry,  I must 
pause  at  the  outset,  and,  inverting  a little  what  has 
been  the  order  of  investigation  here,  ask  first,  who 
and  what  is  such  a judge  ; who  is  that  best  judge  ? 
what  is  he  ? how  shall  we  know  him  ? On  this 
point  it  is  impossible  that  there  should  be  the 
slightest  difference  of  opinion  among  us.  On  some 
things  we  differ.  Some  of  you  are  dissatisfied  with 
this  decision  or  with  that.  Some  of  you  take  ex- 
ception to  this  judge  or  to  that.  Some  of  you, 


360 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENUKE. 


more  loftily,  hold  that  one  way  of  appointing  to 
the  office,  or  one  waj'’  of  limiting  the  tenure,  is  a 
little  more  or  less  monarchical,  or  a little  more  or 
less  democratic  than  another  — and  so  we  differ  ; but 
I do  not  believe  there  is  a single  member  of  the  con- 
vention who  will  not  agree  with  me  in  the  description 
I am  about  to  give  of  the  good  judge  ; who  will  not 
agree  with  me  that  the  system  which  is  surest  to  put 
and  to  keep  him  on  the  bench  is  the  true  system  for 
Massachusetts. 

In  the  first  place,  he  should  be  profoundly  learned 
in  all  the  learning  of  the  law,  and  he  must  know  how 
to  use  that  learning.  Will  any  one  stand  up  here  to 
deny  this?  In  this  day,  boastful,  glorious  for  its 
advancing  popular,  professional,  scientific,  and  all 
education,  will  any  one  disgrace  himself  by  doubting 
the  necessity  of  deep  and  continued  studies,  and 
various  and  thorough  attainments,  to  the  bench  ? 
He  is  to  know,  not  merely  the  law  which  you  make, 
and  the  legislature  makes,  not  constitutional  and 
statute  law  alone,  but  that  other  ampler,  that  bound- 
less jurisprudence,  the  common  law,  which  the  suc- 
cessive generations  of  the  State  have  silently  built 
up ; that  old  code  of  freedom  which  we  brought  with 
us  in  The  Mayfiower  and  Arbella,  but  which  in  the 
progress  of  centuries  we  have  ameliorated  and  en- 
riched, and  adapted  wisely  to  the  necessities  of  a 
busy,  prosperous,  and  wealthy  community,  — that  he 
must  know.  And  where  to  find  it?  In  volumes 
which  you  must  count  by  hundreds,  by  thousands ; 
filling  libraries  ; exacting  long  labors,  — the  labors  of 
a lifetime,  abstracted  from  business,  from  politics ; 
but  assisted  by  taking  part  in  an  active  judicial  ad- 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


361 


ministration ; such  labors  as  produced  the  wisdom 
and  won  the  fame  of  Parsons  and  Marshall,  and 
Kent  and  Story,  and  Holt  and  Mansfield.  If  your 
system  of  appointment  and  tenure  does  not  present 
a motive,  a help  for  such  labors  and  such  learning ; 
if  it  discourages,  if  it  disparages  them,  in  so  far  it  is 
a failure. 

In  the  next  place,  he  must  be  a man,  not  merely  up- 
right, not  merely  honest  and  well-intentioned,  — this 
of  course,  — but  a man  who  will  not  respect  persons 
in  judgment.  And  does  not  every  one  here  agree  to 
this  also  ? Dismissing,  for  a moment,  all  theories 
about  the  mode  of  appointing  him,  or  the  time  for 
which  he  shall  hold  office,  sure  I am,  we  all  demand, 
that  as  far  as  human  virtue,  assisted  by  the  best  con- 
trivances of  human  wisdom,  can  attain  to  it,  he  shall 
not  respect  persons  in  judgment.  He  shall  know  no- 
thing about  the  parties,  every  thing  about  the  case. 
He  shall  do  every  thing  for  justice  ; nothing  for  him- 
self ; nothing  for  his  friend  ; nothing  for  his  patron  ; 
nothing  for  his  sovereign.  If  on  one  side  is  the 
executive  power  and  the  legislature  and  the  people, 
— the  sources  of  his  honors,  the  givers  of  his  daily 
bread,  and  on  the  other  an  individual  nameless  and 
odious,  his  eye  is  to  see  neither,  great  nor  small ; 
attending  only  to  the  “ trepidations  of  the  balance.” 
If  a law  is  passed  by  a unanimous  legislature,  clam- 
ored for  by  the  general  voice  of  the  public,  and  a 
cause  is  before  him  on  it,  in  which  the  whole  com- 
munity is  on  one  side  and  an  individual  nameless  or 
odious  on  the  other,  and  he  believes  it  to  be  against 
the  Constitution,  he  must  so  declare  it,  — or  there  is 
no  judge.  If  Athens  comes  there  to  demand  that 


362 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


the  cup  of  hemlock  he  put  to  the  lips  of  the  wisest 
of  men  ; and  he  believes  that  he  has  not  corrupted 
the  youths  nor  omitted  to  ivorship  the  gods  of  the  city, 
nor  introduced  new  divinities  of  his  own,  he  must 
deliver  him,  although  the  thunder  light  on  the  un- 
terrified  brow. 

This,  Sir,  expresses,  by  very  general  illustration, 
what  I mean  when  I say  I would  have  him  no  re- 
specter of  persons  in  judgment.  How  we  are  to  find, 
and  to  keep  such  an  one  ; by  what  motives  ; by  what 
helps  ; whether  by  popular  and  frequent  election,  or 
by  executive  designation,  and  permanence  dependent 
on  good  conduct  in  office  alone  — we  are  hereafter 
to  inquire  ; but  that  v/e  must  have  him,  — that  his 
price  is  above  rubies,  — that  he  is  necessary,  if 
justice,  if  security,  if  right  are  necessary  for  man,  — 
all  of  you,  from  the  East  or  West,  are,  I am  sure, 
unanimous. 

And,  finally,  he  must  possess  the  perfect  confidence 
of  the  community,  that  he  bear  not  the  sword  in  vain. 
To  be  honest,  to  be  no  respecter  of  persons,  is  not 
yet  enough.  He  must  be  believed  such.  I should 
be  glad  so  far  to  indulge  an  old-fashioned  and  cher- 
ished professional  sentiment  as  to  say,  that  I would 
have  something  of  venerable  and  illustrious  attach 
to  his  character  and  function,  in  the  judgment  and 
feelings  of  the  commonwealth.  But  if  this  should 
be  thought  a little  above,  or  behind  the  time,  I do 
not  fear  that  I subject  myself  to  the  ridicule  of  any 
one,  when  I claim  that  he  be  a man  towards  whom 
the  love  and  trust  and  affectionate  admiration  of  the 
people  should  flow ; not  a man  perching  for  a winter 
and  summer  in  our  court-houses,  and  then  gone  for- 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENUEE. 


363 


ever,  but  one  to  whose  benevolent  face,  and  bland 
and  dignified  manners,  and  firm  administration  of  the 
Avhole  learning  of  the  law,  we  become  accustomed ; 
whom  our  eyes  anxiously,  not  in  vain,  explore  when 
we  enter  the  temple  of  justice  ; towards  whom  our 
attachment  and  trust  grow  even  with  the  growth  of 
his  own  eminent  reputation.  I would  have  him  one 
who  might  look  back  from  the  venerable  last  years  of 
Mansfield,  or  Marshall,  and  recall  such  testimonies  as 
these  to  the  great  and  good  Judge  : — 

“ The  3'oung  men  saw  me,  and  hid  themselves  ; and 
the  aged  arose  and  stood  up. 

“ The  princes  refrained  talking,  and  laid  their  hand 
upon  their  mouth. 

“ When  the  ear  heard  me,  then  it  blessed  me,  and 
when  the  eye  saw  me,  it  gave  witness  to  me. 

“ Because  I delivered  the  poor  that  cried,  and  the 
fatherless,  and  him  that  had  none  to  help  him. 

“ The  blessing  of  him  that  was  ready  to  perish 
came  upon  me,  and  I caused  the  widow’s  heart  to 
sing  for  joy. 

“ I put  on  righteousness  and  it  clothed  me.  My 
judgment  was  as  a robe  and  a diadem.  I was  ejms 
to  the  blind,  and  feet  was  I to  the  lame. 

“ I was  a father  to  the  poor,  and  the  cause  which  I 
knew  not,  I searched  out. 

“ And  I brake  the  jaws  of  the  wicked,  and  plucked 
the  spoil  out  of  his  teeth.” 

Give  to  the  community  such  a judge,  and  I care 
little  who  makes  the  rest  of  the  constitution,  or  what 
party  administers  it.  It  will  be  a free  government,  I 
know.  Let  us  repose,  secure,  under  the  shade  of  a 
learned,  impartial,  and  trusted  magistracy,  and  we 
need  no  more. 


864 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


And,  now,  what  system  of  promotion  to  office  and 
what  tenure  of  office  is  surest  to  produce  such  a 
judge?  Is  it  executive  appointment  during  good 
behavior,  with  liability,  however,  to  be  impeached 
for  good  cause,  and  to  be  removed  by  address  of  the 
legislature  ? or  is  it  election  by  the  people,  or  ap- 
pointment b}^  the  executive  for  a limited  term  of 
years  ? 

To  every  system  there  are  objections.  To  every 
system  there  are  sound,  or  there  are  specious  ob- 
jections ; objections  of  theory ; objections  of  fact. 
Any  man’s  ability  is  equal  to  finding,  and  exag- 
gerating them.  What  is  demanded  of  us  is  to  com- 
pare the  good  and  evil  of  the  different  systems,  and 
select  the  best.  Compare  them  by  the  test  which  I 
have  proposed.  See  which  will  most  certainly  give 
you  the  judge  you  need,  and  adopt  that.  It  may  be 
cavilled  at ; even  as  freedom,  as  religion,  as  whole- 
some restraint,  as  liberty  of  speech,  as  the  institution 
and  the  rights  of  property,  may  be  cavilled  at ; but 
in  its  fruits,  in  its  product,  judged  by  a long  suc- 
cession of  seasons,  is  its  justification  and  its  glory. 

Applying  then.  Sir,  this  test,  I think  the  existing 
system  is,  out  of  all  comparison,  the  best  one.  At 
the  hazard  of  repeating  and  weakening  the  views 
presented  yesterday  in  the  impressive  and  admirable 
address  of  my  friend  for  Manchester,  [Mr.  Dana,] 
and  in  the  instructive  and  able  arguments  of  the  two 
gentlemen,  [Mr.  Greenleaf  and  Mr.  Parker,]  whose 
established  professional  reputations  give  to  them 
such  just  weight  with  you,  I beg  to  submit,  briefly, 
why  I think  so. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  it  seems  to  me  most  clear 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


365 


that  the  weight  of  sound  general  opinion  and  of  the 
evidence  of  a trustworthy  experience  vastly  prepon- 
derates in  favor  of  it.  How  the  system  of  popular 
elections,  or  of  short  terms,  is  actually  working  now 
in  ^uy  one  of  the  States  which  have  recently  intro- 
duced it ; how,  still  more,  it  is  likely  to  work  there 
after  the  influences  of  the  earlier  system,  the  judges 
which  it  bred,  the  habits  which  it  formed,  the  bars 
wliich  it  trained,  have  passed  away,  there  is  no 
proof  before  this  Convention  deserving  one  moment’s 
notice.  We  do  not  know  what  is  the  predominant 
conviction  on  this  subject,  to-day,  of  those  fittest  to 
judge,  in  anyone  State.  We  do  know  that  they  can- 
not yet  possibly  pronounce  on  the  matter,  however 
close  or  sagacious  their  observation.  What  they 
have  not  yet  seen,  they  cannot  yet  tell.  Certainly 
the  result  of  all  that  I have  been  able  to  gather  is  a 
general  and  strong  opinion  against  the  new  system ; 
and  in  favor  of  a return,  if  to  return  were  possible, 
to  that  which  we  are  yet  proud  and  privileged  to 
call  our  own.  But  the  evidence  is  too  loose  for  the 
slightest  consideration.  My  friend  for  Manchester 
read  letters  yesterday  from  persons  of  high  character, 
as  he  assured  us,  in  New  York,  deploring  the  working 
of  her  new  system  ; and  I have  no  doubt  that  the 
witnesses  are  respectable,  and  the  opinions  perfectly 
sound.  But  other  gentlemen  guess  that  very  differ- 
ent letters  might  be  obtained,  by  applying  to  the  right 
quarters ; and  the  gentleman  from  New  Bedford, 
[Mr.  French,]  is  quite  confident  that  the  people  of 
that  great  State  — the  two  or  three  millions  — are  in 
favor  of  the  change,  because  one,  if  not  two,  or  even 
three  individuals  have  personally  told  him  so.  And, 


366 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


therefore,  I say,  we  have  not  here  now  so  much 
evidence  of  the  practical  working  of  their  recent 
systems  anywhere,  even  as  far  as  it  has  gone,  that 
anj^  honest  lawyer  would  advise  his  client  to  risk  a 
hundred  dollars  on  it. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  are  there  not  most  weighty 
opinions ; is  there  not  the  testimony  of  the  widest, 
and  longest,  and  most  satisfactory  experience,  that 
executive  appointment  for  good  behavior  yields  the 
best  judge? 

What  is  British  opinion  and  British  experience  to 
the  point?  On  the  question  what  tenure  of  office 
promises  the  best  judge,  that  opinion  and  that  experi- 
ence may  well  be  adverted  to.  Whether  a particular 
mode,  or  a particular  tenure,  is  consonant  to  the  re- 
publican polity  of  government,  we  must  settle  for 
ourselves.  That  is  another  question.  Monarchical 
and  aristocratical  principles  we  will  not  go  for  to  Eng- 
land or  elsewhere,  nor  buy  even  learning,  impartiality, 
and  titles  to  trust,  at  the  cost  of  an  anti-republican 
system.  But  to  know  how  it  practically  operates  to 
have  the  judge  dependent  on  the  power  that  ap- 
points him  ; dependent  for  his  continuance  in  office  ; 
dependent  for  his  restoration  to  it ; dependent  on 
any  thing  or  on  anybody  but  his  own  official  good 
behavior,  and  that  general  responsibility  to  the  legis- 
lature and  public  opinion,  “ that  spirit  of  observation 
and  censure  which  modifies  and  controls  the  whole 
government,”  — we  may  very  well  consult  British  or 
any  other  experience.  The  establishment  of  the  ten- 
ure of  good  behavior  was  a triumph  of  liberty.  It 
was  a triumph  of  popular  liberty  against  the  crown. 
Before  the  revolution  of  1688,  or  certainly  during  the 


ON  THE  JUDICLiL  TENURE. 


367 


worst  years  of  the  Stuart  dynasty,  the  judge  held  oflSce 
at  the  pleasure  of  the  king  who  appointed  him.  What 
was  the  consequence?  He  was  the  tool  of  the  hand 
that  made  and  unmade  him.  Scroggs  and  Jeffi’eys 
were  but  representatives  and  exemplifications  of  a sys- 
tem. A whole  bench  sometimes  was  packed  for  the 
enforcement  of  some  new  and  more  flagrant  royal 
usurpation.  Outraged  and  in  mourning  by  judicial 
subserviency  and  judicial  murder,  England  discerned 
at  the  revolution  that  her  liberty  was  incompletely 
recovered  and  imperfectly  guarded,  unless  she  had 
judges  by  whom  the  boast  that  an  Englishman’s 
house  is  his  castle  should  be  elevated  from  a phrase 
to  a fact ; from  an  abstract  right  to  a secure  enjoy- 
ment, so  that,  although  that  house  were  “ a cottage 
with  a thatched  roof  which  all  the  winds  might  enter, 
the  king  could  not.”  To  that  end  the  Act  of  Settle- 
ment made  the  tenure  of  good  behavior  a part  of  the 
British  Constitution  ; and  a later  amendment  kept  the 
judicial  commission  alive,  as  my  friend  from  Manches- 
ter yesterday  reminded  us,  notwithstanding  the  de- 
mise of  the  sovereign,  and  perfected  the  system.  Sir, 
the  origin  of  the  tenure  of  good  behavior  — marking 
thus  an  epoch  in  the  progress  of  liberty ; a victory,  so 
to  say,  of  individuality,  of  private  right,  of  the  house- 
hold hearth  of  the  cottager,  of  the  “ swink’d  hedger,” 
over  the  crown,  — and  still  more,  its  practical  work- 
ings in  the  judicial  character  and  function,  may  well 
entitle  it  to  thoughtful  treatment.  Compare  the 
series  of  British  judges  since  1688  with  that  before, 
and  draw  your  own  conclusions.  Not  that  all  this 
improvement,  in  impartiality,  in  character,  in  titles  to 
confidence  and  affection  is  due  to  the  change  of  ten- 


368 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


lire  ; but  the  soundest  historians  of  that  Constitution 
recognize  that  that  is  one  element  of  transcendent 
importance.  With  its  introduction  she  began  to  have 
a government  of  laws  and  not  of  men. 

I come  to  other  testimony,  other  opinions  — the 
lights  of  a different  experience.  There  is  a certain 
transaction  and  document  called  the  Federal  Consti- 
tution. Consult  that.  In  1787,  that  Convention, — 
assisted  by  the  thoughts  and  discussions  of  the  five 
5’ears  of  peace  preceding  it,  upon  the  subject  of  na- 
tional government,  — to  he  constructed  on  the  repub- 
lican form  of  polity  — into  which  were  gathered  all, 
or  almost  all,  of  our  great  men,  in  our  age  of  great- 
ness ; men  of  deep  studies,  ripe  wisdom,  illustrious 
reputation,  a high  spirit  of  liberty  ; that  Convention, 
upon  a careful  survey  of  the  institutions  of  the  States 
of  America,  and  of  those  of  other  countries,  and 
times  past  and  present;  upon,  I think  we  cannot 
doubt,  a profound  appreciation  of  the  true  functions 
of  a judicial  department ; of  the  qualities  of  a good 
judge  ; of  the  best  system  of  appointment  and  tenure 
to  obtain  them  — of  the  true  nature  of  republican 
government  — and  how  far,  consistently  with  all  its 
characteristic  principles  and  aims,  the  people  may 
well  determine  to  aj^point  to  office  indirectly,  rather 
than  directly,  and  for  good  behavior,  rather  than  for 
a limited  term,  when  the  great  ends  of  the  stability 
of  justice,  and  the  security  of  private  right  pre- 
scribe it  — incorporated  into  the  great  organic  law  of 
the  Union  the  principle  that  judges  shall  be  appointed 
by  the  executive  power,  to  hold  their  office  during 
good  behavior. 

The  gentleman  from  Lowell  [Mr.  Butler"]  last 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


369 


evening  observed,  referring,  I believe,  to  tlie  time 
when  our  Constitution  was  adopted,  that  it  was  long 
before  the  age  of  the  steamboat  and  railroad  and  mag- 
netic telegraph.  It  is  true  ; but  do  we  know  better 
than  they  knew  the  nature  of  man ; the  nature  of 
the  judicial  man ; what  he  ought  to  be  to  discharge 
his  specific  functions  aright ; how  motives,  motives  of 
ambition,  of  fear,  of  true  fame,  of  high  principle, 
afPect  him  ; whether  dependence  on  another  power  is 
favorable  to  independence  of  the  wishes  and  the  will 
of  that  other  power  ? Do  we  know  more  of  republi- 
can government  and  true  liberty,  and  the  reconcilia- 
tions of  personal  security  under  due  course  of  law 
with  the  loftiest  spirit  of  freedom,  than  they?  Has 
the  advancement  of  this  kind  of  knowledge  quite  kept 
pace  Avith  that  of  the  science  of  the  material  world  ? 

I wish.  Sir,  the  time  of  the  Convention  would  allow 
me  to  read  entire  that  paper  of  “ The  Federalist,”  the 
seventy-eighth  I believe,  in  which  the  principle  of  the 
independence  of  the  judiciary  is  vindicated,  and  execu- 
tiA^e  appointment,  during  good  behavior,  as  the  means 
of  attaining  such  independence,  is  vindicated  also. 
But  read  it  for  yourselves.  Hear  Hamilton  and 
Madison  and  J ay  ; for  we  knoAV  from  all  sources  that 
on  this  subject  that  paper  expressed  the  opinions  of 
all,  — on  the  independence  of  the  judiciary,  and  the 
means  of  securing  it,  — a vast  subject  adequately 
illustrated  by  the  highest  human  intelligence  and 
learning  and  puiity  of  principle  and  of  public  life. 

Sir,  it  is  quite  a striking  reminiscence,  that  this  very 
paper  of  “ The  Federalist,”  which  thus  maintains  the 
independence  of  the  judiciary,  is  among  the  earliest, 
perhaps  the  earliest,  enunciation  and  vindication,  in 

24 


370 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


this  country,  of  that  great  truth,  that  in  the  American 
politics,  the  written  Constitution  — which  is  the 
record  of  the  popular  will  — is  above  the  law  which 
is  the  will  of  the  legislature  merely  ; that  if  the  two 
are  in  conflict,  the  law  must  yield  and  the  Constitu- 
tion must  rule  ; and  that  to  determine  whether  such 
a conflict  exists,  and  if  so,  to  pronounce  the  law  in- 
valid, is,  from  the  nature  of  the  judicial  office,  the 
plain  duty  of  the  judge.  In  that  paper  this  funda- 
mental proposition  of  our  system  was  first  presented, 
or  first  elaborately  presented,  to  the  American  mind ; 
its  solidity  and  its  value  were  established  by  unanswer- 
able reasoning ; and  the  conclusion  that  a bench, 
which  was  charged  with  a trust  so  vast  and  so  deli- 
cate, should  be  as  independent  as  the  lot  of  humanity 
would  admit  — of  the  legislature,  of  the  executive,  of 
the  temporary  popular  majority,  whose  will  it  might 
be  required  thus  to  subject  to  the  higher  will  of  the 
Constitution,  was  deduced  by  a moral  demonstration. 
Beware,  Sir,  lest  truths  so  indissolubly  connected  — 
presented  together,  at  first ; — adopted  together  — 
should  die  together.  Consider  whether,  when  the 
judge  ceases  to  be  independent,  the  Constitution 
will  not  cease  to  be  supreme.  If  the  Constitution 
does  not  maintain  the  judge  against  the  legislature, 
and  the  executive,  will  the  judge  maintain  the  Con- 
stitution against  the  legislature  and  the  executive  ? 

What  the  working  of  this  principle  in  the  national 
government  has  been,  practically,  there  is  no  need  to 
remind  you.  Recall  the  series  of  names,  the  dead 
and  living,  who  have  illustrated  that  Bench  ; advert 
to  the  prolonged  terms  of  service  of  which  the  coun- 
try has  had  the  enjoyment ; trace  the  growth  of  the 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


371 


national  jurisprudence  ; compare  it  with  any  other 
production  of  American  mind  or  liberty ; then  trace 
the  progress  and  tendencies  of  political  opinions,  and 
say  if  it  has  not  given  us  stability  and  security,  and 
yet  left  our  liberties  unabridged. 

I find  a third  argument  for  the  principle  of  execu- 
tive appointment  during  good  behavior  in  this  : that 
it  is  the  existing  system  of  Massachusetts,  and  it  has 
operated  with  admirable  success.  It  is  not  that  it 
exists;  it  is  that  it  works  well.  Does  it  not?  Sir, 
is  it  for  me,  or  any  man,  any  member  of  the  profes- 
sion of  the  law  most  of  all,  to  rise  here,  and  now, 
and  because  our  feelings  may  have  sometimes  been 
ruffled  or  wounded  by  a passage  with  the  Bench ; be- 
cause we  have  been  dissatisfied  by  a ruling  or  a ver- 
dict ; because  our  own  over-wrought  brain  may  have 
caused  us,  in  some  moment,  to  become  forgetful  of 
ourselves ; or  because  a judge  may  have  misunder- 
stood us,  and  done  us  an  unintentional  injury  — is  it 
for  us  to  disclaim  the  praise,  so  grateful,  so  just, 
which  the  two  eminent  gentlemen,  one  of  them 
formerly  of  New  Hampshire  [Mr.  Parker],  one  of 
them  formerly  of  Maine  [Mr.  Greenleaf],  speaking 
without  the  partiality  of  native  sons,  and  from  obser- 
vations made  by  them  from  a point  of  view  outside 
of  us,  and  distant  from  us  — have  bestowed  on  our 
Bench  and  our  law?  Theirs  are  lips  from  which 
even  flattery  were  sweet ; but  when  they  concur  in 
reminding  you  with  what  respect  the  decisions  of 
this  court  are  consulted  by  other  courts  of  learn- 
ing and  character ; how  far  their  reputation  has  ex- 
tended ; how  familiar  is  the  profession  of  law  with 
the  great  names  of  our  judicial  history;  how  impor- 


372 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


tant  a contribution  to  American  jurisprudence,  and 
even  to  the  general  products  of  American  thought, 
our  local  code  composes  — do  we  not  believe  that 
they  utter  their  personal  convictions,  and  that  the 
high  compliment  is  as  deserved  as  it  is  pleasing  ? 

If  it  has  worked  well,  it  is  good.  Do  men  gather 
grapes  of  thorns,  or  figs  of  thistles  ? If  it  has  con- 
tinued to  us  a long  succession  of  men,  deeply  learned, 
wholly  impartial,  deserving,  and  clothed  with  the 
trust,  love,  and  affectionate  admiration  of  all  parties 
of  the  community,  does  it  not  afford  a reasonable 
ground  of  inference  that  there  is  something  in  such 
a mode  of  appointment,  and  in  such  a tenure,  intrinsi- 
cally^ philosophically  adapted  to  insure  such  a result  ? 

Some  criticism  has  been  made  on  the  practical  ad- 
ministration of  our  law,  which  deserves  a passing  no- 
tice. It  requires  the  less  because  it  has  already  been 
replied  to. 

The  gentleman  from  New  Bedford  [Mr.  French] 
told  a story  of  some  one,  as  I understood  him,  who 
was  about  to  lose,  or  had  lost,  or  dared  not  sue, 
a note  of  a hundred  dollars,  because  it  would  cost 
him  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  to  collect  it.  A 
very  sensible  explanation  was  suggested  by  the  gen- 
tleman from  Cambridge  [Mr.  Parker]  just  now ; and 
I will  venture  to  advise  the  gentleman  from  New 
Bedford  in  addition,  the  very  first  time  he  sees  his 
friend,  to  recommend  to  him  to  change  his  lawyer  as 
quick  as  he  possibly  can.  As  a reason  for  a change 
of  the  Constitution,  and  the  tenure  of  the  judicial 
office,  it  seems  to  me  not  particularly  cogent. 

The  same  gentleman  remembers  that  your  Su- 
preme Court  decided  that  the  fugitive-slave  law  is 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


373 


constitutional ; and  what  makes  it  the  more  provok- 
ing is,  he  knows  the  decision  was  wrong.  Well,  Sir, 
so  said  the  gentleman  from  Manchester  [Mr.  Dana]. 
His  sentiments  concerning  that  law  and  its  kindred 
topics  do  not  differ,  I suppose,  greatl}^  from  those  of 
the  member  from  New  Bedford ; but  what  did  he 
add?  “I  thank  God,”  he  said,  “that  I have  the 
consolation  of  knowing  the  decision  was  made  by 
men  as  impartial  as  the  lot  of  humanity  would  admit ; 
and  that  if  judges  were  elected  by  the  people  of  Mas- 
sachusetts it  would  hold  out  no  hope  of  a different 
decision.”  He  sees  in  this,  therefore,  no  cause  for 
altering  our  judicial  system  on  any  view  of  the  de- 
cision ; and  I believe  — though  I have  never  heard 
him  say  or  suggest  such  a thing  — that  my  friend’s 
learning  and  self-distrust  — that  “that  learned  and 
modest  ignorance  ” which  Gibbon  recognizes  as  the 
last  and  ripest  result  of  the  profound  knowledge  of  a 
large  mind  — will  lead  him  to  agree  with  me,  that  it 
is  harely  possible,  considering  how  strongly  that  law 
excites  the  feelings,  and  thus  tends  to  disturb  the 
judgment,  considering  the  vast  weight  of  judicial 
opinion,  and  of  the  opinions  of  public  persons  in  its 
favor ; recalling  the  first  law  on  that  subject,  and  the 
decision  in  Prigg  and  Pennsylvania  — and  who  gave 
the  opinion  of  that  Court  in  that  case  — that  it  is 
just  barely  possible  that  the  gentleman  from  New 
Bedford  does  not  certainly  know  that  the  decision 
was  wrong.  That  he  thinks  it  so,  and  would  lay  his 
life  down  upon  it,  the  energy  and  the  sentiments  of 
his  speech  sufficiently  indicate.  My  ditficulty,  like 
my  friend’s  from  Manchester,  is  to  gather  out  of  all 
this  indignation  the  least  particle  of  cause  for  a 
change  of  the  judicial  tenure. 


374 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


The  gentleman  from  Lowell  [Mr.  Butler]  animad- 
verted somewhat,  last  evening,  on  the  delaj^s  attend- 
ing the  publication  of  the  reports  of  decisions.  I had 
made  some  inquiry  concerning  the  facts,  but  have  been 
completely  anticipated  in  aU  I would  have  said  by  the 
gentleman  from  Cambridge  [Mr.  Parker].  To  me  his 
explanation  seems  perfectly  satisfactory ; and  in  no 
view  of  such  a question  would  the  good  sense  of  the 
gentleman  from  Lowell,  I think,  deem  it  a reason  for 
so  vast  an  innovation  as  this,  on  the  existing  and 
ancient  system. 

To  another  portion  of  that  learned  gentleman’s 
speech,  I have  a word  to  say,  in  all  frankness  and 
all  candor.  Placing  his  hand  on  his  heart,  he  ap- 
pealed, with  great  emphasis  of  manner,  to  the  honor 
of  the  bar,  as  represented  in  this  Convention,  whether 
we  had  not  heard  complaints  of  particular  acts  of 
some  of  our  judges  ? Sir,  that  appeal  is  entitled  to  a 
frank  and  honorable  response.  I have  known  and 
loved  many  ; many  men  ; many  women  — of  the  liv- 
ing and  the  dead  — of  the  purest  and  noblest  of 
earth  or  skies  — but  I never  knew  one  — I never 
heard  of  one  — if  conspicuous  enough  to  attract  a 
considerable  observation,  whom  the  breath  of  cal- 
umny, or  of  sai’casm,  always  wholly  spared.  Did  the 
learned  gentleman  ever  know  one  ? “ Be  thou  as 

chaste  as  ice,  as  pm-e  as  snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape 
calumny.” 

And  does  he  expect  that  in  a profession  like  ours  j 
overtasked  ; disappointed  in  the  results  of  causes ; 
eager  for  victory ; mortified  by  unexpected  defeat ; 
misunderstanding  or  failing  to  appreciate  the  evi- 
dence ; the  court  sometimes  itself  jaded  and  mistaken 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


375 


— that  we  shall  not  often  hear,  and  often  say,  hasty 
and  harsh  things  of  a judge?  I have  heard  such 
of  every  judge  I ever  saw  — however  revered  in  his 
general  character.  Did  Mansfield  escape?  Did  Mar- 
shall? Did  Parsons?  Did  Story?  What  does  it 
come  to  as  an  argument  against  the  particular  judge  ; 
still  more  as  an  argument  against  a judicial  system? 
Are  we  to  go  on  altering  the  mode  of  appointment, 
and  the  tenure,  till  you  get  a corps  of  judges,  against 
no  one  of  which,  no  one  ever  hears  anybody  say  any 
thing? 

But,  Sir,  I am  to  answer  the  learned  gentleman  s 
appeal  a little  farther;  and  I say  upon  my  honor, 
that  I believe  it  the  general  opinion  of  the  bar  to-day, 
its  general  opinion  ever  since  I entered  the  profes- 
sion, that  our  system  of  appointment  and  tenure  has 
operated  perfectly  Avell ; that  the  benches  and  courts 
have  been,  and  are,  learned,  impartial,  entitled  to 
trust ; and  that  there  is  not  one  member  of  either 
who,  taking  his  judicial  character  and  life  as  a whole, 

. is  not  eminently,  or  adequately,  qualified  for  his 
place. 

Turn,  now,  from  the  existing  system  to  the  sub- 
stitute which  is  offered;  and  see,  if  you  can,  how 
that  will  work. 

It  is  not  enough  to  take  little  objections  to  that 
system,  in  its  general  working  so  satisfactory.  He 
who  would  change  it  is  bound  to  show  that  what  he 
proposes  in  place  of  it  will  do  better.  To  this,  I say, 
it  is  all  a sheer  conjectural  speculation,  yet  we  see 
and  know  enough  to  warrant  the  most  gloomy  ap- 
prehensions. 

Consider  first,  for  a moment,  the  motion  immedi- 


876 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


ately  pending  ; wliicli  proposes  the  election  of  judges 
by  the  people.  I said  in  the  outset,  I have  no  fear 
of  your  sustaining  it ; but  for  the  development  of  a 
full  view  of  the  general  subject,  it  will  justify  some 
attention. 

Gentlemen  begin  by  asking  if  we  are  afraid  to 
trust  the  people.  Well,  Sir,  that  is  a very  cunning 
question ; very  cunning  indeed.  Answer  it  as  you 
will,  they  think  they  have  you.  If  you  answer.  Yes, 

— that  you  are  afraid  to  trust  the  people,  — then 
they  cry  out.  He  blasphemeth.  If  you  answer.  No, 

— that  you  are  not  afraid  to  trust  them,  — then  they 
reply.  Why  not  permit  them  to  choose  their  judges  ? 

Sir,  this  dilemma  creates  no  difficulty.  I might 
evade  it  by  saying  that  however  ready  and  however 
habituated  to  trust  the  people,  it  does  not  follow  that 
we  should  desert  a system  which  has  succeeded  emi- 
nently, to  see  if  another  will  not  succeed  as  well.  If 
the  indirect  appointment  by  the  people,  appointment 
through  the  governor  whom  they  choose,  has  supplied 
a succession  of  excellent  judges,  why  should  I trouble 
them  with  the  direct  appointment  — however  well 
they  might  conduct  it  — which  they  have  not  soli- 
cited ; which  they  have  not  expected ; about  which 
you  dared  not  open  your  mouths  during  the  dis- 
cussion concerning  the  call  of  a Convention : in 
regard  to  which  you  gave  them  — it  is  more  correct 
to  say  — every  reason  to  believe  you  should  make  no 
change  whatever?  Get  a Convention  by  a pledge  to 
the  people  not  to  make  judges  elective  — and  then 
tell  us  we  shall  make  them  elective,  on  pain  of  being 
denounced  afraid  to  trust  the  people ! Will  such 
flattery  be  accepted  in  atonement  for  such  deceptk-ui 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


377 


But  I prefer  meeting  this  dilemma  in  another  way. 
It  is  a question  certainly  of  some  nicety  to  determine 
what  offices  the  public  good  prescribes  should  be 
filled  by  a direct  election  of  the  people  ; and  what 
should  be  filled  by  the  appointment  of  others,  as  the 
governor  and  counsel,  chosen  by  the  people.  On  the 
best  reflection  I have  beezi  able  to  give  it,  this  seems 
to  me  a safe  general  proposition.  If  the  nature  of 
the  office  be  such,  the  qualifications  which  it  de- 
mands, and  the  stage  on  which  they  are  to  be 
displayed  be  such,  that  the  people  can  judge  of  those 
qualifications  as  well  as  their  agents  ; and  if,  still 
farther,  the  nature  of  the  office  be  such  that  the 
tremendous  ordeal  of  a severely  contested  popular 
election  will  not  in  any  degree  do  it  injury,  — will 
not  deter  learned  men,  if  the  office  needs  learning, 
from  aspiring  to  it ; will  not  tend  to  make  the  suc- 
cessful candidate  a respecter  of  persons,  if  the  office 
requires  that  he  should  not  he ; will  not  tend  to 
weaken  the  confidence  and  trust,  and  affectionate 
admiration  of  the  community  towards  him,  if  the 
office  requires  that  such  be  the  sentiments  with 
which  he  should  be  regarded,  — then  the  people 
should  choose  by  direct  election.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  from  the  kind  of  qualifications  demanded,  and 
the  place  where  their  display  is  to  be  made,  an  agent 
of  the  people,  chosen  by  them  for  that  purpose,  can 
judge  of  the  qualifications  better  than  they  can  ; or  if 
from  its  nature  it  demands  learning,  and  the  terrors 
of  a party  canvass  drive  learning  from  the  field ; or 
if  it  demands  impartiality  and  general  confidence, 
and  the  successful  candidate  of  a party  is  less  likely 
to  possess  either,  — then  the  indirect  appointment  by 


o78 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


the  people,  that  is,  appointment  by  their  agent,  is 
wisest. 

Let  me  illustrate  this  test  by  reference  to  some 
proceedings  of  the  Convention.  You  have  already 
made  certain  offices  elective,  which  heretofore  were 
filled  by  executive  appointment  — such  as  those  of 
sheriffs;  the  attorney-general ; district-attorneys,  and 
others. 

Now,  within  the  test  just  indicated,  I do  not  know 
why  these  offices  may  not  be  filled  by  election,  if 
anybody  has  a fancy  for  it.  Take  the  case  of  the 
sheriff,  for  instance.  He  requires  energy,  courtesy, 
promptness,  — qualities  pertaining  to  character  rather, 
and  manner,  displayed,  so  to  speak,  in  the  open  air ; 
palpable,  capable  of  easy  and  public  appreciation. 
Besides,  his  is  an  office  which  the  freedom  and 
violence  of  popular  elections  do  not  greatly  harm. 
There  are  certain  specific  duties  to  do  for  a compen- 
sation, and  if  these  are  well  done,  it  does  not  much 
signify  what  a minority  or  what  anybody  thinks  of 
him. 

Totally  unlike  this  in  all  things  is  the  case  of  the 
judge.  In  the  first  place,  the  qualities  which  fit  him 
for  the  office  are  quite  peculiar ; less  palpable,  less 
salient,  so  to  speak,  less  easily  and  accurately  appre- 
ciated by  cursory  and  general  notice.  They  are  an 
uncommon,  recondite,  and  difficult  learning,  and  they 
are  a certain  power  and  turn  of  mind  and  cast  of 
character,  which,  until  they  come  actually,  and  for  a 
considerable  length  of  time,  and  in  many  varieties  of 
circumstances,  to  be  displayed  upon  the  bench  itself, 
may  be  almost  unremarked  but  by  near  and  profes- 
sional observers.  What  the  public  chiefly  see  is  the 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


879 


effective  advocate ; Mm  their  first  thought  would  he 
perhaps  to  make  their  candidate  for  judge ; jet  ex- 
perience has  proved  that  the  best  advocate  is  not 
necessarily  the  best  judge,  — that  the  two  functions 
exact  diverse  qualifications,  and  that  brilliant  success 
in  one  holds  out  no  certain  promise  of  success  in  the 
other.  A popular  election  would  have  been  very 
likely  to  raise  Erskine  or  Curran  to  the  Bench,  if  they 
had  selected  the  situation  ; but  it  seems  quite  certain 
that  one  failed  as  Lord  Chancellor,  and  the  other  as 
blaster  of  the  Rolls,  and  pretty  remarkably,  too,  con- 
sidering their  extraordinary  abilities  in  the  conduct  of 
causes  of  fact  at  the  bar.  I have  supposed  that  Lord 
Abinger,  who,  as  Mr.  Scarlett,  won  more  verdicts 
than  any  man  in  England,  did  not  conspicuously 
succeed  in  the  exchequer ; and  that,  on  the  other 
hand.  Lord  Tenterden,  to  name  no  more,  raised  to 
the  bench  from  no  practice  at  all,  or  none  of  which 
the  public  had  seen  any  thing,  became,  by  the  fortu- 
nate possession  of  the  specific  judicial  nature,  among 
the  most  eminent  who  have  presided  on  it.  The  truth 
is,  the  selection  of  a judge  is  a little  like  that  of  a 
professor  of  the  higher  mathematics  or  of  intellectual 
philosophy.  Intimate  knowledge  of  the  candidate  will 
detect  the  presence  or  the  absence  of  the  sj^eeialty 
demanded ; the  kind  of  knowledge  of  him  which  the 
community  may  be  expected  to  gain,  will  not.  On 
this  point  I submit  to  the  honor  and  candor  of  the 
bar  in  this  body  an  illustration  which  is  worth  con- 
sidering. It  often  happens  that  our  clients  propose, 
or  that  we  propose,  to  associate  other  counsel  with  us 
to  aid  in  presenting  the  cause  to  the  jury.  In  such 
cases  we  expect  and  desire  them  to  select  theii'  man, 


380 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


and  almost  always  we  think  the  selection  a good  one. 
But  it  sometimes  happens,  too,  that  it  is  decided  to 
submit  the  cause  to  a lawyer  as  a referee.  And  then 
do  we  expect  or  wish  our  client  to  select  the  referee  ? 
Certainly  never.  That  we  know  we  can  do  better 
than  he,  because  better  than  he  we  appreciate  the 
legal  aspects  of  the  case,  and  the  kind  of  mind  which 
is  required  to  meet  them ; and  we  should  betray  the 
client,  sacrifice  the  cause,  and  shamefully  neglect  a 
clear  duty,  if  we  did  not  insist  on  his  permitting  us, 
for  the  protection  of  his  interests  intrusted  to  our 
care,  to  appoint  his  judge.  Always  he  also  desires 
us  for  bis  sake  to  do  it.  And  now,  that  which  we 
would  not  advise  the  single  client  to  do  for  himself, 
shall  we  advise  the  whole  body  of  our  clients  to  do 
for  themselves? 

But  this  is,  by  no  means,  the  principal  objection  to 
making  this  kind  of  office  elective.  Consider,  beyond 
all  this,  how  the  office  itself  is  to  be  affected ; its  dig- 
nity ; its  just  weight;  the  kind  of  men  who  will  fill  it ; 
their  learning;  their  firmness;  their  hold  on  the  gen- 
eral confidence  — how  will  these  be  affected?  Who 
will  make  the  judge?  At  present  he  is  appointed 
by  a goveinor,  his  council  concurring,  in  whom  a 
majority  of  the  whole  people  have  expressed  their 
trust  by  electing  him,  and  to  whom  the  minority  have 
no  objection  but  his  politics ; acting  under  a direct 
personal  responsibility  to  public  opinion ; possessing 
the  best  conceivable  means  to  ascertain,  if  he  does 
not  know,  by  inquiry  at  the  right  sources,  who  does, 
and  who  does  not  possess  the  character  of  mind 
and  qualities  demanded.  By  such  a governor  he  is 
appointed ; and  then  afterward  he  is  perfectly  in- 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


881 


dependent  of  him.  And  how  well  the  appointing 
jDower  in  all  hands  has  done  its  work,  let  our  judicial 
annals  tell.  But,  under  an  elective  system,  who  will 
make  the  judge?  The  young  lawyer  leaders  in  the 
caucus  of  the  prevailing  party  will  make  him.  Will 
they  not  ? Each  party  is  to  nominate  for  the  office, 
if  the  people  are  to  vote  for  it,  is  it  not  ? You  know 
it  must  be  so.  How  will  thej^  nominate  ? In  the 
great  State  caucus,  of  course,  as  they  nominate  for 
governor.  On  whom  will  the  judicial  nominations 
be  devolved?  On  the  professional  members  of  the 
caucus,  of  course.  Who  will  they  be  ? Young,' 
ambitious  lawjmrs,  very  able,  possibly,  and  very  de- 
serving ; but  not  selected  by  a majority  of  the  whole 
people,  nor  by  a majority,  perhaps,  of  their  own 
towns,  to  do  any  thing  so  important  and  responsible 
as  to  make  a judge,  — these  will  nominate  him.  The 
party,  unless  the  case  is  very  scandalous  indeed,  will 
sustain  its  regular  nominations  ; and  thus  practically 
a handful  of  caucus  leaders,  under  this  system,  will 
appoint  the  judges  of  Massachusetts.  This  is  bad 
enough ; because  we  ought  to  know  who  it  is  that 
elevates  men  to  an  office  so  important  — we  ought 
to  have  some  control  over  the  nominating  power  — 
and  of  these  caucus  leaders  we  know  nothing ; and 
because,  also,  they  will  have  motives  to  nominate 
altogether  irrespective  of  the  fitness  of  the  nominee 
for  the  place,  on  which  no  governor  of  this  Common- 
wealth, of  any  party,  has  ever  acted.  This  is  bad 
enough.  But  it  is  not  all,  nor  the  worst.  Trace 
it  onwards.  So  nominated,  the  candidate  is  put 
through  a violent  election;  abused  by  the  press, 
abused  on  the  stump,  charged  ten  thousand  times 


382 


ON  THE  JUDICI.\X  TENUEE. 


over  with  being  very  little  of  a lawyer,  and  a good 
deal  of  a knave  or  boor  ; and  after  being  tossed  on 
this  kind  of  blanket  for  some  uneasy  months,  is 
chosen  by  a majority  of  ten  votes  out  of  a hundred 
thousand,  and  comes  into  court,  breathless,  terrified, 
with  perspiration  in  drops  on  his  brow,  wondering 
how  he  ever  got  there,  to  take  his  seat  on  the  bench. 
And  in  the  very  first  cause  he  tries,  he  sees  on  one 
side  the  counsel  who  procured  his  nomination  in 
caucus,  and  has  defended  him  by  pen  and  tongue 
before  the  people,  and  on  the  other,  the  most  promi- 
nent of  his  assailants  ; one  who  has  been  denying  his 
talents,  denying  his  learning,  denjdng  his  integrity, 
denying  him  every  judicial  quality,  and  every  quality 
that  may  define  a good  man,  before  half  the  counties 
in  the  State.  Is  not  this  about  as  infallible  a recipe 
as  you  could  wish  to  make  a judge  a respecter  of 
persons?  Will  it  not  inevitably  load  him  with  the 
suspicion  of  partiality,  whether  he  deserves  it  or  not? 
Is  it  happily  calculated  altogether  to  fix  on  him  the 
love,  trust,  and  affectionate  admiration  of  the  general 
community  with  which  you  agree  he  ought  to  be 
clothed,  as  with  a robe,  or  he  fills  his  great  office  in 
vain?  Who  does  not  shrink  from  such  temptation 
to  be  partial?  Who  does  not  shrink  from  the  sus- 
picion of  being  thought  so?  What  studious  and 
learned  man,  of  a true  self-respect,  fitted  the  most 
preeminently  for  the  magistracy  by  these  very  quali- 
ties and  tastes,  would  subject  himself  to  an  ordeal  so 
coarse,  and  so  inappropriate,  for  the  chance  of  getting 
to  a position  where  no  human  purity  or  ability  could 
assure  him  a trial  by  his  merits  ? 

But  you  will  not  make  judges  elective.  What  is  to 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


383 


be  feared  is,  that  instead  of  attempting  a larger  mis- 
chief, in  which  you  must  fail,  you  will  attempt 
a smaller,  in  which  you  may  succeed.  You  Avill 
not  change  the  system  which  has  worked  so  well, 
very  much,  you  say,  but  you  will  change  it  some ; 
and  therefore  you  will  continue  to  appoint  by  the 
governor.  But  instead  of  appointing  during  good 
behavior,  subject  to  impeachment,  and  subject  to 
removal  by  the  legislature,  you  will  appoint  him  for 
a term  of  years  — five  years,  seven  years,  ten  years. 

Well,  Sir,  without  repeating  that  no  reason  for  any 
change  is  shown,  and  that  no  manner  of  evidence  has 
been  produced  to  prove  that  this  project  of  execu- 
tive appointment,  for  limited  terms,  has  ever  suc- 
ceeded anj^where  — pretty  important  considerations 
for  thoughtful  persons,  likely  to  weigh  much  with 
the  people  — there  are  two  objections  to  this  system, 
which  ought,  in  my  judgment,  to  put  it  out  of  every 
head.  And,  in  the  first  place,  it  will  assuredly  oper- 
ate to  keep  the  ablest  men  from  the  bench.  You 
all  agree  that  you  would  have  there  the  ablest  man 
whom  three  thousand  dollars  or  twenty-one  hundred 
dollars  per  annum  will  command.  Tlie  problem  is, 
one  part  of  the  problem  is,  how  shall  we  get  the  best 
judge  for  that  money? 

And  now,  if  my  opinion  is  worth  any  thing,  I de- 
sire to  express  it  with  all  possible  confidence,  that 
this  change  of  tenure  will  infallibly  reduce  the  rate 
of  men  whom  you  will  have  on  the  bench.  Not 
every  one,  in  all  respects  equal  to  it,  can  afford  it 
now.  It  has  been  said,  and  is  notorious,  that  it  is 
offered  and  rejected.  The  consideration  of  its  per- 
manence is  the  decisive  one  in  its  favor,  whoever 


384 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


accepts  it.  The  salary  is  inadequate,  hut  if  it  is  cer- 
tain, certain  as  good  judicial  behavior  — it  ought  not 
to  be  more  so  — it  may  be  thought  enough.  De- 
prive it  of  that  moral  makeweight,  and  it  is  nothing. 
Why  should  a lawyer,  accumulating,  or  living,  by 
his  practice,  look  at  a judgeship  of  ten  years?  What 
does  he  see  and  fear?  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  is 
to  descend  from  the  bench,  a man  forty-five  or  fifty 
or  sixty  years  of  age,  without  a dollar,  or  certainly  re- 
quiring some  means  of  increasing  his  income.  Every 
old  client  is  lost  by  this  time,  and  he  is  to  begin  life 
as  he  began  it  twenty  or  thirty  years  before.  Not 
quite  so,  even.  Then  he  was  young,  energetic,  and 
sanguine.  He  is  older  now,  and  is  less  disposed  to 
the  contentious  efforts  of  the  law.  More  than  that, 
he  is  less  equal  to  them  for  another  reason  than  the 
want  of  youth.  If  he  has,  during  the  full  term  of 
ten  5mars,  been  good  for  any  thing;  if  he  has  been 
“a  judge,  altogether  a judge,  and  nothing  but  a 
judge,”  then  his  whole  intellectual  character  and 
habits  will  have  undergone  a change,  itself  incapable 
of  change.  He  will  have  grown  out  of  the  lawyer 
into  the  magistrate.  He  will  have  put  off  the  gown 
of  the  bar,  and  have  assumed  the  more  graceful  and 
reverend  ermine  of  the  bench.  The  mental  habits, 
the  mental  faults  of  the  advocate,  the  faults  ascribed 
by  satire  to  the  advocate,  the  faults  or  habits  of  his 
character,  the  zeal,  the  constant  energy  bestowed  on 
all  causes  alike ; the  tendencies,  and  the  power  to 
aggravate  and  intensify  one  side  of  a thesis,  and 
forget  or  allow  inadequate  importance  to  the  other  — 
these,  if  he  has  been  a good  judge,  or  tried  his  best 
to  be  a good  judge  for  ten  years,  he  has  lost,  he  has 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENUEE. 


3S5 


conquered,  and  has  acquired  in  their  place  that 
calmer  and  that  fairer  capacity  to  see  the  thing,  fact, 
or  law,  just  as  it  is.  Thus  changed,  it  will  be  pain- 
ful to  attempt  to  recover  the  advocate  again ; it  will 
be  impracticable,  if  it  is  attempted.  To  regain  busi- 
ness, he  must  find  new  clients  ; to  find  or  keep  them, 
he  must  make  himself  over  again.  Accordingly, 
how  rare  are  the  cases  where  any  man  above  the  age 
of  forty,  after  having  served  ten  years  on  the  bench, 
seeking  to  cultivate  judicial  habits,  and  win  a true 
judicial  fame,  has  returned  to  a full  business  at 
the  bar.  I never  heard  of  one.  Such  a retired 
judge  may  act  as  a referee.  He  may  engage  some- 
what in  chamber  practice,  as  it  is  called,  though  the 
result  of  all  my  observation  has  been,  that  unless  he 
can  attend  his  opinions  through  court;  can  there  ex- 
plain and  defend  them  ; unless  he  can  keep  his  hand 
so  much  in  that  he  feels  and  knows  at  all  times  ivhich 
tvay  the  judicial  mind  is  tending  on  the  open  questions 
of  the  laio  — his  chamber  practice  holds  out  a pretty 
slender  promise  for  the  decline  of  a life  unprovided 
for.  He  who  would  be  a lawyer,  must  unite  the 
study  of  the  books  and  the  daily  practice  of  the 
courts,  or  his  very  learning  will  lead  him  astray. 

I have  been  amused  at  the  excellent  reasons  given 
to  show  why  an  able  man,  at  the  head  of  the  bar,  in 
full  practice,  forty  years  of  age,  a growing  family 
and  no  property,  should  just  as  soon  accept  a judge- 
ship  for  ten  years  as  during  good  behavior.  Some 
say  a judge  never  lives  but  ten  years  on  the  bench  — 
or  thirteen  at  the  outside  — anyhow.  They  show 
statistics  for  it.  They  propose,  therefore,  to  go  to 
such  a man  and  tender  him  the  situation.  He  will 

25 


386 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


inconsiderately  answer  that  he  should  like  the  bench; 
thinks  he  could  do  something  for  the  law ; should  re- 
joice to  give  his  life  to  it ; but  that  the  prospect  of 
coming  off  at  fifty,  and  going  hack  to  begin  battling 
it  again  with  “ these  younger  strengths,”  is  too 
dreary,  and  he  must  decline.  “ Bless  you,”  say  the 
gentlemen,  “ don’t  trouble  yourself  about  that,  if 
that  is  all.  You  can’t  live  but  thirteen  years,  the 
best  way  you  can  fix  it.  Here  is  the  secretary’s  re- 
port — with  a printed  list  as  long  as  a Harvard  Col- 
lege catalogue  — putting  that  out  of  all  question  ! ” 
Do  you  think  this  will  persuade  him  ? Does  he  ex- 
pect to  die  in  ten  years?  Who  does  so?  Did  the 
names  on  tliese  statistics? 

Others  guess  that  the  ten-years  judge  will  be  reap- 
pointed, if  he  behaves  well.  But  unless  he  is  a very 
weak  man  indeed,  will  he  rely  on  that?  Who  will 
assure  it  to  him  ? Does  he  not  know  enough  of  life 
to  know  how  easy  it  will  be,  after  he  has  served  the 
State,  the  law,  his  conscience  and  his  God  for  the 
stipulated  term ; after  the  performance  of  his  duty 
has  made  this  ambitious  young  lawyer  or  that  power- 
ful client  his  enemy  for  life  ; after  having  thus  stood 
in  the  way  of  a greedy  competitor  too  long  — how 
easy  it  will  be  to  bring  influences  to  bear  on  a new 
governor,  just  come  in  at  the  head  of  a flushed  and 
eager  party,  to  allow  the  old  judge’s  commission  to 
expire,  and  appoint  the  right  sort  of  a man  in  his 
place  ? Does  he  not  know  how  easy  it  will  be  to  say, 
“ Yes,  he  is  a good  judge  enough,  but  no  better  than 
a dozen  others  who  have  just  put  you  in  power ; 
there  are  advantages  in  seating  a man  on  the  bench 
who  is  fresh  from  the  bar ; there  is  no  injustice  to 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


387 


the  incumbent  — didn’t  he  know  that  he  ran  this 
risk  ? ” Too  well  he  knows  it,  Sir,  to  be  tickled  by 
the  chance  of  “ finding  the  doom  of  man  reversed  for 
lum,"’  and  he  will  reject  the  offer. 

Herein  is  great  and  certain  evil.  How  you  can 
disregard  it  — how  jmu  can  fail  to  appreciate  what  an 
oh^dous  piece  of  good  economy  it  is  ; economy  worthy 
of  statesmen  — binding  on  your  conscience ; to  so 
construct  your  system  as  to  gain  for  the  bench  the 
best  man  Avhom  three  thousand  dollars  per  annum 
can  be  made  to  command,  passes  all  comprehension. 
Surely  you  will  not  reply  that  there  “ will  be  enough 
others  to  take  it.”  If  the  tendency  of  what  you  pro- 
pose is  appreciably  to  lessen  the  chances  of  obtaining 
the  best,  is  it  any  excuse  to  say  that  fools  will  rush  in 
where  others  will  not  tread  ? 

But  there  is  still  another  difficulty.  He  who  does 
accept  it,  and  performs  as  an  hireling  his  day,  will 
not  only  be  an  ordinary  man  comparatively,  at  the 
start,  but  he  holds  a place,  and  is  subjected  to  influ- 
ences, under  which  it  will  be  impossible  to  maintain 
impartiality,  and  the  reputation  of  impartiality ; im- 
possible to  earn  and  keep  that  trust,  and  confidence, 
and  affectionate  and  respectful  regard,  which  the 
judge  must  have,  or  he  is  but  half  a judge. 

I have  sometimes  thought  that  the  tenure  of  good 
behavior  has  one  effect  a little  like  that  which  is  pro- 
duced by  making  the  marriage  tie  indissoluble.  If 
the  “ contract  which  renovates  the  world  ” were  at 
the  pleasure  of  both  parties,  they  would  sometimes, 
often,  quarrel  and  bring  about  a dissolution  in  a 
month.  But  they  know  they  have  embarked  for  life 
— for  good  and  ill  — for  better  and  worse ; and  they 


388 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


bear  with  one  another ; they  excuse  one  another  — 
they  help  one  another  — they  make  each  other  to  be 
that  which  their  eyes  and  their  hearts  desire.  A 
little  so  in  the  relation  of  the  judge  to  the  bar  and 
the  community.  You  want  to  invest  him  with  honor, 
love,  and  confidence.  If  every  time  when  he  rules 
on  a piece  of  evidence,  or  charges  the  jury,  a young 
lawyer  can  say,  half  aloud  in  the  bar,  or  his  disap- 
pointed client  can  go  to  the  next  tavern  to  say,  “ My 
good  fellow,  we  will  have  you  down  here  in  a year  or 
two  — you  shall  answer  for  this  — make  the  most  of 
your  time  ” — and  so  forth ; is  it  favorable  to  the 
culture  of  such  sentiments?  Does  it  tend  to  beget 
that  state  of  mind  towards  him  in  the  community 
which  prompts  “the  ear  to  bless  him,  and  the  eye 
to  give  witness  to  him  ? ” Does  it  tend  in  him  to 
“ ripen  that  dignity  of  disposition  which  grows  with 
the  growth  of  an  illustrious  reputation ; and  becomes 
a sort  of  pledge  to  the  pubhc  for  security  ? ” Show 
to  the  bar,  and  to  the  people,  a judge  by  whom 
justice  is  to  be  dispensed  for  a lifetime,  and  all 
become  mutually  cooperative,  respectful,  and  at- 
tached. 

And  still  further.  This  ten-years  judge  of  yours 
is  placed  in  a situation  where  he  is  in  extreme 
danger  of  feeling,  and  of  being  suspected  of  feeling 
so  anxious  a desire  to  secure  his  reappointment,  as 
to  detract,  justly  or  unjustly,  somewhat  from  that 
confidence  in  him  without  which  there  is  no  judge. 
It  is  easy  for  the  gentleman  from  Abington  [Mr. 
Keyes]  to  feel  and  express,  with  his  habitual  energy, 
indignation  at  the  craven  spirit  which  could  stoop  to 
do  any  thing  to  prolong  his  term  of  office  ? It  is  easy. 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


389 


but  is  it  to  the  purpose?  All  systems  of  judicial 
appointment  and  tenure  suppose  the  judge  to  be  a 
mortal  man,  after  all ; and  all  of  them  that  are  wis^e, 
and  well  tried,  aim  to  fortify,  guard,  and  help  that 
which  his  Maker  has  left  fallible  and  infirm.  To 
inveigh  against  the  lot  of  humanity  is  idle.  Our 
business  is  to  make  the  best  of  it ; to  assist  its  weak- 
ness ; make  the  most  of  its  virtue  ; by  no  means,  by 
no  means  to  lead  it  into  any  manner  of  temptation. 
He  censures  God,  I have  heard,  who  quarrels  with 
the  imperfections  of  man.  Do  you  not,  however, 
tempt  the  judge,  as  his  last  years  are  coming,  to 
cast  about  for  reappointment ; to  favor  a little  more 
this  important  party,  or  this  important  counsel,  by 
whom  the  patronage  of  the  future  is  to  be  dispensed? 
He  will  desire  to  keep  his  place,  will  he  not?  You 
have  disqualified  him  for  the  more  active  practice  of 
his  profession.  He  needs  its  remuneration.  Those 
whom  he  loves  depend  on  it.  The  man  who  can 
give  it,  or  withhold  it,  is  before  him  for  what  he  calls 
justice ; on  the  other  side  is  a stranger  without  a 
name.  Have  you  placed  him  in  no  peril  ? Have 
you  so  framed  your  system,  as  to  do  all  that  human 
wisdom  can  do  — to  “secure  a trial  as  impartial  as 
the  lot  of  humanity  will  admit  ” ? If  not,  are  we 
quite  equal  to  the  great  work  we  have  taken  in 
hand? 

There  are  two  or  three  more  general  observations 
with  which  I leave  the  subject,  which  the  pressure 
on  your  time,  and  my  own  state  of  health,  unfit  me 
for  thoroughly  discussing. 

In  constructing  our  judicial  system,  it  seems  to  me 
not  unwise  so  to  do  it,  that  it  shall  rather  operate,  if 


390 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


possible,  to  induce  young  lawyers  to  aspire  to  the 
honors  of  the  bench,  not  by  means  of  party  politics, 
but  by  devoting  themselves  to  the  still  and  deep 
studies  of  this  glorious  science  of  the  law.  A re- 
public, it  is  said,  is  one  great  scramble  for  office,  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest  in  the  State.  The  ten- 
dencies certainly  are  to  make  every  place  a spoil  for 
the  victor,,  and  to  present  to  abilities  and  ambition 
active  service  in  the  ranks  of  party,  victory  under  the 
banner,  and  by  the  warfare  of  party,  as  the  quickest 
and  easiest  means  of  winning  every  one.  How  full 
of  danger  to  justice,  and  to  security,  and  to  liberty, 
are  such  tendencies,  I cannot  here  and  now  pause  to 
consider.  These  very  changes  of  the  judicial  system, 
facilitating  the  chances  of  getting  on  the  bench  by 
party  merits  and  party  titles,  will  give  strength  in- 
calculable to  such  tendencies.  How  much  wiser  to 
leave  it  as  now,  were  it  only  to  present  motives  to 
the  better  youth  of  the  profession  to  withdraw  from 
a too  active  and  vehement  political  life  ; to  conceive, 
in  the  solitude  of  their  libraries,  the  idea  of  a great 
judicial  fame  and  usefulness ; and  by  profound  study 
and  the  manly  practice  of  the  profession  alone  seek 
to  realize  it ; to  so  prepare  themselves,  in  mind,  at- 
tainments, character,  to  become  judges  by  being 
lawyers  only,  that  when  the  ermine  should  rest  on 
them,  it  should  fi^nd,  as  was  said  of  Jay  — as  might 
be  said  of  more  than  one  on  the  bench  of  both  our 
Courts,  of  one  trained  by  our  system  for  the  bench 
of  the  Supreme  National  Court  — it  should  find 
“ nothing  that  was  not  whiter  than  itself.” 

I do  not  know  how  far  it  is  needful  to  take  notice 
of  an  objection  by  the  gentleman  from  Fall  River 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


391 


[Mr.  Hooper,]  and  less  or  more  by  others,  to  the 
existing  system,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  monarchical, 
or  anti-republican,  oi-  somehow  inconsistent  with  our 
general  theories  of  liberty.  He  has  dwelt  a good 
deal  on  it ; he  says  we  might  just  as  well  appoint 
a governor  or  a representative  for  life,  or  good  be- 
havior, as  a judge ; that  it  is  fatally  incompatible 
with  our  frame  of  government,  and  the  great  prin- 
ciples on  which  it  reposes.  One  word  to  this.  It 
seems  to  me  that  such  an  argument  forgets  that  our 
political  system,  while  it  is  purely  and  intensely  re- 
publican, within  all  theories,  aims  to  accomplish  a 
twofold  object,  to  wit : liberty  and  security.  To 
accomplish  this  twofold  object  we  have  established 
a twofold  set  of  institutions  and  instrumentalities  ; 
some  of  them  designed  to  develop  and  give  utterance 
to  one ; some  of  them  designed  to  provide  perma- 
nently and  constantly  for  the  other;  some  of  them 
designed  to  bring  out  the  popular  will  in  its  utmost 
intensity  of  utterance ; some  of  them  designed  to 
secure  life,  and  liberty,  and  character,  and  happi- 
ness, and  property,  and  equal  and  exact  justice, 
against  all  will,  and  against  all  power.  Tliese  in- 
stitutions and  instrumentalities  in  their  immediate 
mechanism  and  workings  are  as  distinct  and  diverse, 
one  from  the  other,  as  they  are  in  their  offices,  and  in 
their  ends.  But  each  one  is  the  more  perfect  for  the 
separation ; and  the  aggregate  result  is  our  own 
Massachusetts. 

Thus,  in  the  law-making  department,  and  in  the 
whole  department  of  elections  to  office  of  those  who 
make  and  those  who  execute  the  law,  you  give  the 
utmost  assistance  to  the  expression  of  liberty.  You 


392 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENUEE. 


give  the  choice  to  the  people.  You  make  it  an 
annual  choice ; you  give  it  to  the  majority ; you 
make,  moreover,  a free  press ; you  privilege  debate ; 
you  give  freedom  to  worship  God  according  only  to 
the  dictates  of  the  individual  conscience.  These  are 
the  mansions  of  libertj^ ; here  are  her  arms,  and  here 
her  chariot.  In  these  institutions  we  provide  for 
her ; we  testify  our  devotion  to  her ; we  show  forth 
how  good  and  how  gracious  she  is  — what  energies 
she  kindles ; what  happiness  she  scatters ; what 
virtues,  what  talents  wait  on  her  — vivifying  every 
atom,  living  in  every  nerve,  heating  in  every  pulsa- 
tion. 

But  to  the  end  that  one  man,  that  the  major- 
ity, may  not  deprive  any  of  life,  liberty,  property, 
the  opportunity  of  seeking  happiness,  there  are  in- 
stitutions of  security.  There  is  a Constitution  to 
control  the  government.  There  is  a separation  of 
departments  of  government.  There  is  a judiciary 
to  interpret  and  administer  the  laws,  “ that  every 
man  may  find  his  security  therein.”  And  in  consti- 
tuting these  provisions  for  security,  you  may  have 
regard  mainly  to  the  specific  and  separate  objects 
which  they  have  in  view.  You  may  very  fitly 
appoint  few  judges  only.  You  may  very  fitly  so 
appoint  them  as  to  secure  learning,  impartiality,  the 
love  and  confidence  of  the  State ; because  thus  best 
they  will  accomplish  the  sole  ends  for  which  they 
are  created  at  all.  If  to  those  ends,  too,  it  has  been 
found,  in  the  long  run,  as  human  nature  is,  that  it  is 
better  to  give  them  a tenure  of  good  behavior,  you 
may  do  so  without  departing  in  the  least  degree  from 
either  of  the  two  great  objects  of  our  political  system. 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


398 


You  promote  one  of  them  directly  by  doing  so.  You 
do  it  without  outrage  on  the  other.  Your  security 
is  greater ; your  liberty  is  not  less.  You  assign  to 
liberty  her  place,  her  stage,  her  emotions,  her  cere- 
monies ; you  assign  to  law  and  justice  theirs.  The 
stage,  the  emotions,  the  visible  presence  of  liberty, 
are  in  the  mass  meeting ; the  procession  by  torch- 
light ; at  the  polls ; in  the  halls  of  lejiLslation ; in 
the  voices  of  the  press ; in  the  freedom  of  political 
speech ; in  the  energy,  intelligence  and  hope,  which 
pervade  the  mass;  in  the  silent,  umeturning  tide 
of  progression.  But  there  is  another  apartment, 
smaller,  humbler,  more  quiet,  down  ia  the  basement 
story  of  our  capitol  — appropriated  to  justice,  to 
security,  to  reason,  to  restraint ; where  there  is  no 
respect  of  persons ; where  there  is  no  high  nor  low, 
no  strong  nor  weak ; where  will  is  nothing,  and  power 
is  nothing,  and  numbers  are  nothing — and  all  are 
equal,  and  all  secure,  before  the  law.  Is  it  a sound 
objection  to  your  system,  that  in  that  apartment  you 
do  not  find  the  symbols,  the  cap,  the  flag  of  freedom? 
Is  it  any  objection  to  a court-room  that  you  cannot 
hold  a mass  meeting  in  it  while  a trial  is  proceeding  ? 
Is  liberty  abridged,  because  the  procession  returning 
by  torchlight,  from  celebrating  anticipated  or  actual 
party  victory,  cannot  pull  down  a half  dozen  houses 
of  the  opposition  with  impunity ; and  because  its 
leaders  awake  from  the  intoxications  of  her  saturnalia 
to  find  themselves  in  jail  for  a riot?  Is  it  any  ob- 
jection that  every  object  of  the  political  system  is  not 
equally  provided  for  in  every  part  of  it?  No,  Sir. 
“ Every  thing  in  its  place,  and  a place  for  every 
thing ! ” If  the  result  is  an  aggregate  of  social  and 


394 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


■political  perfection^  absolute  security  combined  with  as 
much  liberty  as  you  can  live  in,  that  is  the  state  for 
you ! Thank  God  for  that ; let  the  flag  wave  over 
it ; die  for  it ! 

One  word  only,  further,  and  I leave  this  subject. 
It  has  been  maintained,  with  great  force  of  argument, 
by  my  friend  for  Manchester,  that  there  is  no  call  by 
the  people  for  any  change  of  the  judicial  system. 
Certainly  there  is  no  proof  of  such  a call.  The 
documentary  history  of  the  Convention  utterl}^  dis- 
proves it.  But  that  topic  is  exhausted.  I wished  to 
add  only,  that  my  own  observation,  as  far  as  it  has 
gone,  disproves  it  too.  I have  lost  a good  many 
causes,  flrst  and  last ; and  I hope  to  try,  and  expect 
to  lose,  a good  many  more  ; but  I never  heard  a 
client  in  my  life,  however  dissatisfied  with  the 
verdict,  or  the  charge,  say  a word  about  changing 
the  tenure  of  the  judicial  office.  I greatly  doubt,  if 
I have  heard  as  many  as  three  express  themselves 
dissatisfied  with  the  judge ; though  times  without 
number  they  have  regretted  that  he  found  himself 
compelled  to  go  against  them.  My  own  tenure  I 
have  often  thought  in  danger  — but  I am  yet  to  see 
the  first  client  who  expressed  a thought  of  meddling 
with  that  of  the  court.  What  is  true  of  those  clients, 
is  true  of  the  whole  people  of  Massachusetts.  Sir, 
that  people  have  two  traits  of  character  — just  as  our 
political  system  in  which  that  character  is  shown 
forth  has  two  great  ends.  They  love  liberty ; that 
is  one  trait.  They  love  it,  and  they  possess  it  to 
their  hearts’  content.  Free  as  storms  to-day  do  they 
not  know  it,  and  feel  it  — every  one  of  them,  from 
the  sea  to  the  Green  Mountains  ? But  there  is 


ON  THE  JUDICIAL  TENURE. 


395 


another  side  to  their  character ; and  that  is  the  old 
Ang'lo-Saxon  instinct  of  property;  the  rational  and 
the  creditable  desire  to  be  secure  in  life,  in  repu- 
tation, in  the  earnings  of  daily  labor,  in  the  little  all 
which  makes  up  the  treasures  and  the  dear  charities 
of  the  humblest  home ; the  desire  to  feel  certain 
when  they  come  to  die  that  the  last  will  shall  be 
kept,  the  smallest  legacy  of  affection  shall  reach  its 
object,  although  the  giver  is  in  his  grave  ; this  desire, 
and  the  sound  sense  to  know  that  a learned,  impar- 
tial, and  honored  judiciary  is  the  only  means  of 
having  it  indulged.  They  have  nothing  timorous  in 
them,  as  touching  the  largest  liberty.  They  rather 
like  the  exhilaration  of  crowding  sail  on  the  noble 
old  ship,  and  giving  her  to  scud  away  before  a four- 
teen-knot breeze ; but  tliey  know,  too,  that  if  the 
storm  comes  on  to  blow ; and  the  masts  go  over- 
board ; and  the  gun-deck  is  rolled  under  water ; and 
the  lee  shore,  edged  with  foam,  thunders  under  her 
stern,  that  the  sheet  anchor  and  best  bower  then  are 
every  thing ! Give  them  good  ground-tackle,  and 
they  will  carry  her  round  the  world,  and  back  again, 
till  there  shall  be  no  more  sea. 


396  THE  PRESERVATION  OE  THE  UNION. 


SPEECH  DELIVERED  AT  THE  CONSTITU- 
TIONAL MEETING  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 

NOVEMBER  26,  1850. 


[“  Tlie  Citizens  of  Boston  and  its  vicinity,  who  reverence  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States  ; who  wish  to  discountenance 
a spirit  of  disobedience  to  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  refer  all 
questions  arising  under  those  laws  to  the  proper  tribunals  ; who 
would  regard  with  disfavor  aU  further  popular  agitation  of  sub- 
jects which  endanger  the  peace  and  harmony  of  the  Union,  and 
who  deem  the  preservation  of  the  Union  the  paramount  duty  of 
every  citizen,  are  requested  to  meet  and  express  their  sentiments 
on  the  present  posture  of  public  affairs,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  Nov. 
26,  1850,  at  4 o’clock  p.m.” 

The  above  call  having  been  published  in  the  newspapers,  and 
posted  up  in  the  “ Merchants’  Reading  Room”  for  some  days, 
received  the  signatures  of  about  five  thousand  citizens  of  Massa- 
chusetts, and  the  meeting  was  convened  agreeably  to  the  request 
therein  expressed. 

At  a few  minutes  before  four  o’clock  the  Committee  of  Ai- 
rangements  came  in,  and  were  received  with  loud  cheers.  At 
four  o’clock,  precisely,  Thomas  B.  Curtis,  Esq.,  mounted  the 
rostrum,  and  nominated  for  President  John  C.  Warren. 

A series  of  resolutions  having  been  read,  the  meeting  was 
addressed  by  B.  R.  Curtis,  B.  F.  Hallett,  and  S.  D.  Bradford; 
after  which  Mr.  Choate  spoke  as  follows:] 

I FEEL  it,  Fellow-citizens,  to  be  qnite  needless,  for 
any  purpose  of  affecting  your  votes  now,  or  your 
judgment  and  acts  for  the  future,  that  I should  add 


THE  PEESERVATION  OF  THE  UNIOH. 


397 


a word  to  the  resolutions  before  you,  and  to  the  very 
able  addresses  by  which  they  have  been  explained 
and  enforced.  All  that  I would  have  said  has  been 
better  said.  In  all  that  I would  have  suggested, 
this  great  assembly,  so  true  and  ample  a representa- 
tion of  the  sobriety,  and  principle,  and  business,  and 
patriotism  of  this  city  and  its  vicinity,  — if  I may 
judge  from  the  manner  in  which  you  have  responded 
to  the  sentiments  of  preceding  speakers,  — has  far 
outrun  me.  In  all  that  I had  felt  and  reflected  on 
the  supreme  importance  of  this  deliberation,  on  the 
reality  and  urgency  of  the  peril,  on  the  indispensable 
necessity  which  exists,  that  an  effort  be  made,  and 
made  at  once,  combining  the  best  counsels,  and  the 
wisest  and  most  decisive  action  of  the  community,  — an 
effort  to  turn  away  men’s  thoughts  from  those  things 
which  concern  this  part  or  that  part,  to  those  which 
concern  the  whole  of  our  America — to  turn  away 
men’s  solicitude  about  the  small  politics  that  shall 
give  a State  administration  this  year  to  one  set,  and 
the  next  year  to  another  set,  and  flx  it  on  the  grander 
politics  by  which  a nation  is  to  be  held  together  — 
to  turn  away  men’s  hearts  from  loving  one  brother  of 
the  national  household,  and  hating  and  reviling  an- 
other, to  that  larger,  juster,  and  wiser  affection  which 
folds  the  whole  household  to  its  bosom  — to  turn  away 
men’s  conscience  and  sense  of  moral  obligation  from 
the  morbid  and  mad  pursuit  of  a single  duty,  and 
indulgence  of  a single  sentiment,  to  the  practical 
ethics  in  which  all  duties  are  recognized,  by  which 
all  duties  are  reconciled,  and  adjusted,  and  subordi- 
nated, according  to  their  rank,  by  which  the  sacred- 
ness of  compacts  is  holden  to  be  as  real  as  the  virtue 


398'  THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


of  compassion,  and  the  supremacy  of  the  law  declared 
as  absolute  as  the  luxury  of  a tear  is  felt  to  be  sweet 

— to  turn  away  men’s  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the 
lights  of  a philanthropy  — they  call  it  philanthropy  — 
some  of  whose  ends  may  be  specious,  but  whose 
means  are  bad  faith,  abusive  speech,  ferocity  of  tem- 
per, and  resistance  to  law ; and  whose  fruit,  if  it  ripens 
to  fruit,  will  be  woes  unnumbered  to  bond  and  free, 

— to  turn  all  eyes  from  the  glitter  of  such  light  to 
the  steady  and  unalterable  glory  of  that  wisdom,  that 
justice,  and  that  best  philanthropy  under  which  the 
States  of  America  have  been  enabled  and  may  still  be 
enabled  to  live  together  in  peace,  and  grow  together 
into  the  nature  of  one  people,  — in  all  that  I had  felt 
and  reflected  on  these  things,  you  have  outrun  my 
warmest  feelings  and  my  best  thoughts.  What  re- 
mains, then,  but  that  I congratulate  you  on  at  least 
this  auspicious  indication,  and  take  my  leave  ? One 
or  two  suggestions,  however,  you  will  pardon  to  the 
peculiarity  of  the  times. 

I concur  then,^rst.  Fellow-citizens,  with  one  of  the 
resolutions,  in  expressing  my  sincerest  conviction  that 
the  Union  is  in  extreme  peril  this  day.  Some  good 
and  wise  men,  I know,  do  not  see  this ; and  some  not 
quite  so  good  or  wise  deny  that  they  see  it.  I know 
very  well  that  to  sound  a false  alarm  is  a shallow  and 
contemptible  thing.  But  I know,  also,  that  too  much 
precaution  is  safer  than  too  little,  and  I believe  that 
less  than  the  utmost  is  too  little  now.  Better,  it  is 
said,  to  be  ridiculed  for  too  much  care,  than  to  be 
ruined  by  too  confident  a security.  I have  then  a pro- 
found conviction  that  the  Union  is  yet  in  danger.  It 
is  true  that  it  has  passed  through  one  peril  within 


THE  PRESEHVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


399 


the  last  few  months,  — such  a peril,  that  the  future 
historian  of  America  will  pause  with  astonishment 
and  terror  when  he  comes  to  record  it.  The  sobriety 
of  the  historic  style  will  rise  to  eloquence,  — to  pious 
ejaculation,  — to  thanksgivings  to  Almighty  God,  — as 
he  sketches  that  scene  and  the  virtues  that  triumphed 
in  it.  “ Honor  and  praise,”  will  he  exclaim,  “ to  the 
eminent  men  of  all  parties — to  Clay,  to  Cass,  to 
Foote,  to  Dickinson,  to  Webster  — who  rose  that  day 
to  the  measure  of  a true  greatness,  — who  remembered 
that  they  had  a country  to  preserve  as  well  as  a local 
constituency  to  gratify,  — who  laid  all  the  wealth, 
and  all  the  hopes  of  illustrious  lives  on  the  altar  of  a 
hazardous  patriotism,  — who  reckoned  all  the  sweets 
of  a present  popularity  for  nothing  in  comparison  of 
that  more  exceeding  weight  of  glory  which  follows 
him  who  seeks  to  compose  an  agitated  and  save  a 
sinking  land.” 

That  night  is  passed,  and  that  peril ; and  yet  it  is 
still  night,  and  there  is  peril  still.  And  what  do  I 
mean  by  this  ? I believe,  and  rejoice  to  believe,  that 
the  general  judgment  of  the  people  is  yet  sound  on 
this  transcendent  subject.  But  I will  tell  you  where 
I think  the  danger  lies.  It  is,  that  while  the  people 
sleep,  politicians  and  philanthropists  of  the  legislative 
hall — the  stump,  and  the  press  — will  talk  and  write 
us  out  of  our  Union.  Yes  — while  you  sleep,  while 
the  merchant  is  loading  his  ships,  and  the  farmer  is 
gathering  his  harvests,  and  the  music  of  the  hammer 
and  shuttle  wake  around,  and  we  are  all  steeped  in  the 
enjoyment  of  that  vast  and  various  good  which  a com- 
mon government  places  within  our  reach  — there  are 
influences  that  never  sleep,  and  which  are  creating 


400  THE  PKESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


and  diffusing  a public  opinion,  in  whose  hot  and 
poisoned  breath,  before  we  yet  perceive  our  evil  plight, 
this  Union  may  melt  as  frost-work  in  the  sun.  Do 
we  sufficiently  appreciate  how  omnipotent  is  opinion 
in  the  matter  of  .all  government?  Do  we  consider 
especially  in  how  true  a sense  it  is  the  creator,  must 
he  the  upholder,  and  may  be  the  destroyer  of  our 
united  government?  Do  we  often  enough  advert  to 
the  distinction,  that  while  our  State  governments 
must  exist  almost  of  necessity,  and  with  no  effort 
from  within  or  without,  the  Union  of  the  States  is 
a totally  different  creation  — more  delicate,  more  arti- 
ficial, more  recent,  far  more  truly  a mere  production 
of  the  reason  and  the  will  — standing  in  far  more 
need  of  an  ever-surrounding  care,  to  preserve  and 
repair  it,  and  urge  it  along  its  highway?  Do  we 
reflect  that  while  the  people  of  Massachusetts,  for 
example,  are  in  all  senses  one  — not  E Plurihus 
TJnum  — but  one  single  and  uncompounded  sub- 
stance, so  to  speak  — and  while  every  influence  that 
can  possibly  help  to  hold  a social  existence  together 
— identity  of  interest;  closeness  of  kindred;  conti- 
guity of  place  ; old  habit ; the  ten  thousand  opportuni- 
ties of  daily  intercourse  ; every  thing  — is  operating 
to  hold  such  a State  together,  so  that  it  must  exist 
whether  we  will  or  not,  and  “ cannot,  but  by  anni 
hilating,  die  ” — the  people  of  America  compose  a 
totally  different  community  — a community  miscella- 
neous and  widely  scattered ; that  the}^  are  many 
States,  not  one  State,  or,  if  one,  made  up  of  many  which 
still  coexist;  that  numerous  influences  of  vast  energy, 
influences  of  situation,  of  political  creeds,  of  employ- 
ments, of  supposed  or  real  diversities  of  material  in- 


THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


401 


terest,  tend  evermore  to  draw  them  asunder ; and 
that  is  not,  as  in  a single  State,  that  instinct,  custom, 
a long  antiquity,  closeness  of  kindred,  immediate  con- 
tiguity, the  personal  intercourse  of  daily  life  and  the 
like,  come  in  to  make  and  consolidate  the  grand  in- 
corporation, whether  we  will  or  not ; hut  that  is  to 
be  accomplished  by  carefully  cultivated  and  acquired 
habits  and  states  of  feeling ; by  an  enlightened  dis- 
cernment of  great  interests,  embracing  a continent 
and  a future  age ; by  a voluntary  determination  to 
love,  honor,  and  cherish,  by  mutual  tolerance,  by 
mutual  indulgence  of  one  another’s  peculiarities,  by 
the  most  politic  and  careful  withdrawal  of  our  atten- 
tion from  the  offensive  particulars  in  which  we  differ, 
and  by  the  most  assiduous  development  and  apprecia- 
tion, and  contemplation  of  those  things  wherein  we 
are  alike  — do  we  reflect  as  we  ought,  that  it  is  only 
thus  — by  varieties  of  expedients,  by  a prolonged  and 
voluntary  educational  process,  that  the  flne  and  strong 
spirit  of  NATIONALITY  may  be  made  to  penetrate  and 
animate  the  scarcely  congruous  mass  — and  the  full 
tide  of  American  feeling  to  All  the  mighty  heart  ? 

I have  sometimes  thought  that  the  States  in  our 
system  may  be  compared  to  the  primordial  particles 
of  matter,  indivisible,  indestructible,  impenetrable, 
whose  natural  condition  is  to  repel  each  other,  or, 
at  least,  to  exist  in  their  own  independent  identity, 
— while  the  Union  is  an  artificial  aggregation  of 
such  particles ; a sort  of  forced  state,  as  some  have 
said,  of  life ; a complex  structure  made  with  hands, 
which  gravity,  attrition,  time,  rain,  dew,  frost,  not 
less  than  tempest  and  earthquake,  cooperate  to  waste 
away,  and  which  the  anger  of  a fool  — or  the  laughter 

26 


402  THE  PRESEEVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 

of  a fool  — may  bring  down  in  an  hour  ; a system  of 
bodies  advancing  slowly  tbrougb  a resisting  medium, 
operating  at  all  times  to  retard,  and  at  any  moment 
liable  to  arrest  its  motion  ; a beautiful,  yet  fragile 
creation,  which  a breath  can  unmake,  as  a breath  has 
made  it. 

And  now,  charged  with  the  trust  of  holding  to- 
gether such  a nation  as  this,  what  have  we  seen? 
What  do  we  see  to-day  ? Exactly  this.  It  has  been 
for  many  months  — years,  I may  say;  but,  assuredly 
for  a long  season  — the  peculiar  infelicity,  say, 
rather,  terrible  misfortune  of  this  country,  that  the 
attention  of  the  people  has  been  fixed  without  the 
respite  of  a moment,  exclusively,  on  one  of  those 
subjects  — the  only  one  — on  wliich  we  disagree  pre- 
ciselj'  according  to  geographical  lines.  And  not  so 
only,  but  this  subject  has  been  one  — unlike  tariff, 
or  internal  improvements,  or  the  disbursement  of  the 
public  money,  on  which  the  dispute  cannot  be  main- 
tained, for  an  hour,  without  heat  of  blood,  mutual 
loss  of  respect,  alienation  of  regard  — menacing  to 
end  in  hate,  strong  and  cruel  as  the  grave. 

I call  this  only  a terrible  misfortune.  I blame 
here  and  now  no  man  and  no  policy  for  it.  Circum- 
stances have  forced  it  upon  us  all ; and  down  to  the 
hour  that  the  series  of  compromise  measures  was 
completed  and  presented  to  the  country,  or  certainly 
to  congress,  I will  not  here  and  now  say,  that  it  was 
the  fault  of  one  man,  or  one  region  of  country,  or 
one  party  more  than  another. 


But  the  pity  of  it,  lago  — the  pity  of  it  I ” 


THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


403 


How  appalling  have  been  its  effects;  and  how  deep 
and  damning  will  be  his  guilt  who  rejects  the  oppor- 
tunity of  reconcilement,  and  continues  this  accursed 
agitation,  without  necessity,  for  another  hour ! 

Why,  is  there  any  man  so  bold  or  blind  as  to  say 
he  believes  that  the  scenes  through  -which  ^ve  have 
been  passing,  for  a year,  have  left  the  American  heart 
where  they  found  it?  Does  any  man  believe  that 
those  affectionate  and  respectful  regards,  that  attach- 
ment and  that  trust,  those  “ cords  of  love  and  bands 
of  a man  ” — which  knit  this  people  together  as  one, 
in  an  earlier  and  better  time,  — are  as  strong  to-day 
as  they  were  a year  ago  ? Do  you  believe  that  there 
can  have  been  so  tremendous  an  apparatus  of  influ- 
ences at  work  so  long,  some  designed,  some  unde- 
signed, but  all  at  work  in  one  way,  that  is,  to  make 
tlie  two  great  di-visions  of  the  national  family  hate 
eich  other,  and  yet  have  no  effect  ? Recall  what  we 
have  seen  in  that  time,  and  weigh  it  well ! Consider 
how  many  hundreds  of  speeches  were  made  in  con- 
gress — all  to  show  how  extreme  and  intrepid  an  advo- 
cate the  speaker  could  be  of  the  extreme  Northern 
sentiment,  or  the  extreme  Southern  sentiment.  Con- 
sider how  many  scores  of  thousands  of  every  one  of 
those  speeches  were  printed  and  circulated  among  the 
honorable  member’s  constituents,  — not  much  else- 
where, — the  great  mass  of  whom  agreed  with  him  per- 
fectly, and  was  only  made  the  more  angry  and  more 
unreasonable  by  them.  Consider  what  caballings  and 
conspirings  were  going  forward  during  that  session  in 
committee  rooms  and  members’  chambers,  and  think 
of  their  private  correspondence  with  enterprising 
waiters  on  events.  Turn  to  the  American  newspaper 


404  THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


press,  secular  and  religious  — every  editor  — or  how 
vast  a proportion ! transformed  into  a manufacturer 
of  mere  local  opinion  — local  opinion  — local  opinion 

— working  away  at  his  battery  — big  or  little  — as  if 
it  were  the  most  beautiful  operation  in  the  world  to 
persuade  one  half  of  the  people  how  unreasonable 
and  how  odious  were  the  other  half.  Think  of  con- 
ventions sitting  for  secession  and  dismemberment,  by 
the  very  tomb  of  Jackson  — the  “ buried  majesty  ” 
not  rising  to  scatter  and  blast  them.  Call  to  mind 
how  many  elections  have  been  holden  — stirring  the 
wave  of  the  people  to  its  profoundest  depths  — all 
turning  on  this  topic.  Remember  how  few  of  all 
who  help  to  give  direction  to  general  sentiment,  how 
few  in  either  house  of  congress,  what  a handful  only 
of  editors  and  preachers  and  talkers  have  ventured 
anywhere  to  breathe  a word  above  a whisper  to  hush 
or  divert  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm ; and  then 
consider  how  delicate  and  sensitive  a thing  is  public 
opinion,  — how  easy  it  is  to  mould  and  color  and 
kindle  it,  and  yet  that,  when  moulded  and  colored 
and  fired,  not  all  the  bayonets  and  artillery  of  Bo- 
rodino can  maintain  the  government  which  it  decrees 
to  perish  ; and  say  if  you  have  not  been  encompassed, 
and  are  not  now,  by  a peril  awful  indeed ! Say  if 
you  believe  it  possible  that  a whole  people  can  go  on 

— a reading  and  excitable  people  — hearing  nothing, 
reading  nothing,  talking  of  nothing,  thinking  of 
nothing,  sleeping  and  waking  on  nothing,  for  a year, 
but  one  incessant  and  vehement  appeal  to  the  strong- 
est of  their  passions,  — to  the  pride,  anger,  and  fear 
of  the  South,  to  the  philanthropy,  humanity,  and 
conscience  of  the  North, — one  half  of  it  aimed  to 


THE  PRESERVATION  OE  THE  UNION.  405 


persuade  you  that  the)’’  were  cruel,  ambitious,  indo- 
lent, and  licentious,  and  therefore  hateful ; and  the 
other  half  of  it  to  persuade  them  that  you  were 
desperately  and  hypocritically  fanatical  and  aggres- 
sive, and  therefore  hateful  — say,  if  an  excitable 
people  can  go  through  all  this,  and  not  be  the  worse 
for  it ! I tell  you  nay.  Such  a year  has  sowed  the 
seed  of  a harvest,  which,  if  not  nipped  in  the  bud, 
wiU  grow  to  armed  men,  hating  with  the  hate  of  the 
brothers  of  Thebes. 

It  seems  to  me  as  if  our  hearts  were  changing, 
dies  the  strongest,  influences  the  sweetest,  seem 
falling  asunder  as  smoking  flax.  I took  up,  the  day 
before  yesterday,  a religious  newspaper,  published  in 
this  city,  a leading  Orthodox  paper,  I may  describe  it, 
to  avoid  misapprehension.  The  first  thing  which  met 
my  eye  was  what  purported  to  be  an  extract  from  a 
Southern  religious  newspaper,  denouncing  the  Boston 
editor,  or  one  of  his  contributors,  as  an  infidel  — in 
just  so  many  words  — on  the  ground  that  one  of  his 
anti-slavery  arguments  implied  a doctrine  inconsistent 
with  a certain  text  of  the  New  Testament.  Surely,  I 
said  to  myself,  the  Christian  thus  denounced  will  be 
deeply  wounded  by  such  misconstruction  ; and  as  he 
lives  a thousand  miles  away  from  slavery,  as  it  really 
does  not  seem  to  be  his  business,  as  it  neither  picks 
his  pocket  nor  breaks  his  leg,  and  he  may,  therefore, 
afford  to  be  cool,  while  his  Southern  brother  lives  in 
the  very  heart  of  it,  and  may,  naturally  enough,  be  a 
little  more  sensitive,  he  will  try  to  soothe  him,  and 
win  him,  if  he  can,  to  reconsider  and  retract  so 
grievous  an  objurgation.  No  such  thing ! To  be 
called  an  infidel,  says  he,  by  this  Southern  Presby- 


406  THE  PRESEKVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


terian,  I count  a real  honor ! He  thereupon  proceeds 
to  denounce  the  slave-holding  South  as  a dowm-ight 
Sodom,  — leaves  a pretty  violent  implication  that  his 
Presbyterian  antagonist  is  not  one  of  its  few  right- 
eous, whoever  else  is  — and  without  more  ado  sends 
him  adrift.  Yes,  Fellow-citizens,  more  than  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church  is  rent  in  twain.  But 
if  these  things  are  done  in  the  green  tree,  what  shall 
be  done  in  the  dry  ? If  the  spirit  of  Christianity  is 
not  of  power  sufficient  to  enable  its  avowed  profes- 
sors to  conduct  this  disputation  of  hatred  with  tem- 
per and  decorum,  — to  say  nothing  of  charity,  — 
what  may  we  expect  from  the  hot  blood  of  men  who 
own  not,  nor  comprehend  the  law  of  love  ? 

I have  spoken  what  I think  of  the  danger  that 
threatens  the  Union.  I have  done  so  more  at  lengtii 
than  I could  have  wished,  because  I know  that, 
upon  the  depth  of  our  convictions  and  the  sincerity 
of  our  apprehensions  upon  this  subject,  the  views 
we  shall  take  of  our  duties  and  responsibilities  must 
all  depend. 

If  y )u  concur  with  me  that  there  is  danger,  you 
will  concur  with  me,  in  the  second  place,  that  thought- 
ful men  have  something  to  do  to  avert  it ; and  what 
is  that?  It  is  not,  in  my  judgment.  Fellow-citizens, 
by  stereotyped  declamation  on  the  utilities  of  the 
Union  to  South  or  North  that  we  can  avert  the 
danger.  It  is  not  by  shutting  our  eyes  and  ears  to  it 
that  we  can  avert  it.  It  is  not  by  the  foolish  prattle 
of  “ Oh,  those  people  off  there  need  the  Union  more 
than  we,  and  will  not  dare  to  quit.”  It  is  not  by 
putting  arms  a-kimbo  here  or  there  and  swearing 
that  we  will  stand  no  more  bullying;  and  if  any'- 


THE  PRESERVATION  OE  THE  UNION.  407 


body  has  a mind  to  dissolve  the  Union,  let  him  go 
ahead.  Not  thus,  not  thus,  felt  and  acted  that  gen- 
eration of  our  fathers,  who,  out  of  distracted  counsels, 
the  keen  jealousies  of  States,  and  a decaying  nation- 
ality, by  patience  and  temper  as  admirable  as  their 
wisdom,  constructed  the  noble  and  proportioned 
fabric  of  our  fedei'al  system.  “ Oh,  rise  some  other 
such ! ” 

No,  Fellow-citizens  — there  is  something  more  and 
other  for  us  to  do.  And  what  is  that?  Among 
other  things,  chiefly  this : to  accept  that  whole  body 
of  measures  of  compromise,  as  they  are  called,  by 
which  the  government  has  sought  to  compose  the 
country,  in  the  spirit  of  1787,  — and  then  that  hence- 
forward every  man,  according  to  his  measure,  and  in 
his  place,  in  his  party,  in  his  social,  or  his  literary,  or 
his  religious  circle,  in  whatever  may  be  his  sphere  of 
influence,  set  himself  to  suppress  the  further  political 
agitation  of  this  whole  subject. 

Of  these  measures  of  compromise  I may  say,  in 
general,  that  they  give  the  whole  victory  to  neither 
of  the  great  divisions  of  the  country,  and  are  there- 
fore the  fitter  to  form  the  basis  of  a permanent  ad- 
justment. I think  that  under  tlieir  operation  and  by 
the  concurrence  of  other  agencies  it  will  assuredly 
come  to  pass,  that  on  all  that  vast  accession  of 
territory  beyond  and  above  Texas  no  slave  will 
ever  breathe  the  air,  and  I rejoice  at  that.  They 
abolish  the  slave-trade  in  the  District  of  Columbia, 
and  I rejoice  at  that.  They  restore  the  fugitive  to 
the  master,  — and  while  I mourn  that  there  is  a slave 
who  needs  to  run,  or  a master  who  desires  to  pursue, 
[ should  be  unworthy  of  the  privilege  of  addressing 


408  THE  PRESEEVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


this  assembly,  if  I did  not  declare  that  I have  not  a 
shadow  of  doubt  that  congress  has  the  constitutional 
power  to  pass  this  law  just  as  it  is,  and  had  no  doubt, 
before  I listened  to  the  clear  and  powerful  argument 
of  Mr.  Curtis  to-night,  that  it  was  out  of  all  question 
their  duty  to  pass  some  effectual  law  on  the  subject, 
and  that  it  is  incumbent  on  every  man  who  recog- 
nizes a single  obligation  of  citizenship  to  assist,  in  his 
spheres,  in  its  execution. 

Accepting,  then,  these  measures  of  constitutional 
compromise,  in  the  spirit  of  Union,  let  us  set  our- 
selves to  suppress  or  mitigate  the  political  agitation 
of  slavery. 

And,  m the  first  place,  I submit  that  the  two  great 
political  parties  of  the  North  are  called  upon  by  every 
consideration  of  patriotism  and  duty  to  strike  this 
whole  subject  from  their  respective  issues.  I go  for 
no  amalgamation  of  parties,  and  for  the  forming  of 
no  new  party.  But  I admit  the  deepest  solicitude 
that  those  which  now  exist,  preserving  their  actual 
organization  and  general  principles  and  aims, — if  so 
it  must  be,  — should  to  this  extent  coalesce.  Neither 
can  act  in  this  behalf  effectually  alone.  Honorable 
concert  is  indispensable,  and  they  owe  it  to  the 
country.  Have  not  the  eminent  men  of  both  these 
great  organizations  united  on  this  adjustment  ? Are 
they  not  both  primarily  national  parties?  Is  it  not 
one  of  their  most  important  and  beautiful  uses  that 
they  extend  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  our 
land,  and  that  they  help  or  ought  to  help  to  hold  the 
extreme  North  to  the  extreme  South  by  a tie  stronger 
almost  than  that  of  mere  patriotism,  by  that  surest 
cement  of  friendship,  — common  opinions  on  the 


THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


409 


great  concerns  of  the  Republic?  You  are  a Demo- 
crat ; and  have  you  not  for  thirty-two  years  in  fifty 
united  with  the  universal  Democratic  party  in  the 
choice  of  Southern  presidents?  Has  it  not  been 
your  function  for  even  a larger  part  of  the  last  half 
century  to  rally  with  the  South  for  the  support  of 
the  general  administration  ? Has  it  not  ever  been 
your  boast,  your  merit  as  a party,  that  you  are  in  an 
intense,  and  even  characteristic  degree,  national  and 
Unionist  in  your  spirit  and  politics,  although  you 
had  your  origin  in  the  assertion  of  State  rights  ; that 
you  have  contributed  in  a thousand  ways  to  the 
extension  of  our  territory  and  the  establishment  of 
our  martial  fame ; and  that  you  follow  the  flag  on 
whatever  field  or  deck  it  waves  ? — and  will  you  for 
the  sake  of  a temporary  victory  in  a State,  or  for  any 
other  cause,  insert  an  article  in  your  creed  and  give  a 
direction  to  your  tactics  which  shall  detach  you  from 
such  companionship  and  unfit  you  for  such  service  in 
all  time  to  come  ? 

You  are  a Whig  — I give  you  my  hand  on  that  — 
and  is  not  your  party  national  too  ? Do  you  not  find 
your  fastest  allies  at  the  South  ? Do  you  not  need 
the  vote  of  Louisiana,  of  North  Carolina,  of  Tennes- 
see, of  Kentucky,  to  defend  you  from  the  redundant 
capital,  matured  skill,  and  pauper  labor  of  Europe? 
Did  you  not  just  now,  with  a wise  contempt  of  sec- 
tional issues  and  sectional  noises,  unite  to  call  that 
brave,  firm,  and  good  Old  Man  from  his  plantation, 
and  seat  him  with  all  the  honors  in  the  place  of 
Washington?  Circumstances  have  forced  both  of 
these  parties  — the  Northern  and  the  Southern  divi- 
sions of  both  — to  suspend  for  a space  the  legitimate 


410 


THE  PRESEKVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


objects  of  their  institution.  For  a space,  laying  them 
aside,  and  resolving  ourselves  into  our  individual 
capacities,  we  have  thought  and  felt  on  nothing  but 
slavery.  Those  circumstances  exist  no  longer,  — 
and  shall  we  not  instantly  revive  the  old  creeds, 
renew  tiie  old  ties,  and  by  manly  and  honorable  con- 
cert resolve  to  spare  America  that  last  calamity,  — 
the  formation  of  parties  according  to  geographical 
lines  ? 

I maintain,  in  the  second  place,  that  the  Con- 
science of  this  community  has  a duty  to  do,  not 
yet  adequately  performed ; and  that  is,  on  grounds 
of  moral  obligation,  not  merely  to  call  up  men  to 
the  obedience  of  law,  but  on  the  same  grounds  to 
discourage  and  modify  the  further  agitation  of  this 
topic  of  slavery,  in  the  spirit  in  which,  thus  far,  that 
agitation  has  been  conducted.  I mean  to  say,  that  our 
moral  duties,  not  at  all  less  than  our  political  in- 
terests, demand  that  we  accept  this  compromise,  and 
that  we  promote  the  peace  it  is  designed  to  restore. 

Fellow-citizens,  was  there  ever  a development  of 
sheer  fanaticism  more  uninstructed,  or  more  danger- 
ous than  that  which  teaches  that  conscience  pre- 
scribes the  continued  political,  or  other  exasperating 
agitation  of  this  subject?  That  it  will  help,  in  the 
least  degree,  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  one  slave, 
or  to  hasten  the  day  of  his  emancipation,  I do  not 
believe,  and  no  man  can  be  certain  that  he  knows. 
But  the  philanthropist,  so  he  qualifies  himself,  will 
say  that  slavery  is  a relation  of  wrong,  and,  whatever 
becomes  of  the  effort,  conscience  impels  him  to  keep 
up  the  agitation  till  the  wrong,  somehow,  is  ended. 
Is  he,  I answer,  quite  sure  that  a conscience  enlight- 


THE  PEESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION.  411 


ened  to  a comprelieusion  and  comparison  of  all  its 
duties  impels  him  to  do  any  such  thing  ? Is  he  quite 
sure  that  that  which  an  English  or  French  or  Ger- 
man philanthropist  might  in  conscience  counsel  or 
do,  touching  this  matter  of  Southern  slavery,  that 
that  also  he,  the  American  philanthropist,  may,  in 
conscience,  counsel  or  do  ? Does  it  go  for  nothing  in 
his  ethics,  that  he  stands,  that  the  whole  morality  of 
the  North  stands,  in  a totally  different  relation  to  the 
community  of  the  South  from  that  of  the  foreign 
propagandist,  and  that  this  relation  may  possibly 
somewhat  — ay,  to  a vast  extent  — modify  all  our 
duties  ? Instead  of  hastily  inferring  that,  because 
those  States  are  sister  States,  you  are  bound  to 
meddle  and  agitate,  and  drive  pitch-pine  knots  into 
their  flesh  and  set  them  on  Are,  may  not  the  fact  that 
they  are  sister  States  be  the  very  reason  why,  though 
others  may  do  so,  you  may  not?  In  whomsoever 
else  these  enterprises  of  an  offensive  and  aggressive 
morality  are  graceful  or  safe  or  right,  are  you  quite 
sure  that  in  you  they  are  either  graceful  or  safe  or 
right  ? 

I have  heard  that  a great  statesman,  living  in  the 
North,  but  living  and  thinking  for  the  country,  has 
been  complained  of  for  saying  that  we  have  no  more 
to  do  with  slavery  in  the  South,  than  with  slavery  in 
Cuba.  Are  you  quite  sure  that  the  sentiment  went 
far  enough  ? Have  we  quite  as  much  to  do  — I mean 
can  we  wisely  or  morally  assume  to  do  quite  as  much 
— with  Southern  as  with  Cuban  slavery?  To  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  we  are  united  only  by  the  tie 
of  philanthropy,  or  universal  benevolence,  and  our 
duties  to  that  extent  flow  from  that  tie.  All  that 


412 


THE  PRESEEVATION  OF  THE  UNIOH. 


such  philanthropy  prompts  us  to  print  or  say  or  do, 
touching  slavery  in  Cuba,  we  may  print,  say,  or  do, 
for  what  I know  or  care,  subject,  I would  recom- 
mend, to  the  restraints  of  common  sense,  and  taking 
reasonable  thought  for  our  personal  security.  But 
to  America  — to  our  America.,  we  are  united  by 
another  tie,  and  may  not  a principled  patriotism,  on 
the  clearest  grounds  of  moral  obligation,  limit  the 
sphere  and  control  the  aspirations  and  prescribe  the 
flights  of  philanthropy  itself? 

In  the  first  place.,  remember,  I entreat  jmu,  that  on 
considerations  of  policy  and  wisdom  — truest  policy, 
profoundest  wisdom,  for  the  greater  good  and  the 
higher  glory  of  America  — for  the  good  of  the  master 
and  slave,  now  and  for  all  generations  — you  have 
entered  with  the  Southern  States  into  the  most 
sacred  and  awful  and  tender  of  all  the  relations,  — 
the  relation  of  country;  and  therefore,  that  you  have, 
expressly  and  by  implication,  laid  yourselves  under 
certain  restraints ; you  have  pledged  yourselves  to  a 
certain  measure,  and  a certain  spirit  of  forbearance  ; 
jmu  have  shut  yourselves  out  from  certain  fields  and 
highways  of  philanthropic  enterprise  — open  to  you 
before,  open  to  the  rest  of  the  world  now ; — but 
from  which,  in  order  to  bestow  larger  and  mightier 
blessings  on  man,  in  another  way,  you  have  agreed  to 
retire. 

Yes,  we  have  entered  with  them  into  the  most 
sacred,  salutary,  and  permanent  of  the  relations  of 
social  man.  We  have  united  with  them  in  that 
great  master  performance  of  human  beings,  that  one 
work  on  which  the  moralists  whom  I love  concur  in 
supposing  that  the  Supreme  'Governor  looks  down 


TIIE  PEESERVATION  OF  THE  UHION.  41o 

with  peculiar  complacency,  the  building  of  a Com- 
monwealth. Finding  themselves  side  by  side  Avith 
those  States  some  sixty  years  ago  in  this  new  world, 
thirteen  States  of  us  then  in  all ! thirty-one  to-day, 
— touching  one  another  on  a thousand  points, — 
discerning  perfectly  that,  unless  the  doom  of  man  was 
to  be  reversed  for  them,  there  was  no  alternative  but 
to  become  dearest  friends  or  bitterest  enemies,  — so 
much  Thucydides  and  the  historians  of  the  beautiful 
and  miserable  Italian  republics  of  the  Middle  Age 
had  taught  them,  — drawn  together,  also  felicitously, 
by  a common  speech  and  blood,  and  the  memory  of 
their  recent  labor  of  glory,  — our  fathers  adopted  the 
conclusion  that  the  best  interests  of  humanity,  in  all 
her  forms,  demanded  that  we  should  enter  into  the 
grand,  sacred,  and  tender  relations  of  country.  All 
things  demanded  it,  — the  love  of  man,  the  hopes  of 
liberty,  — all  things.  Hereby,  only,  can  America  bless 
herself,  and  bless  the  world. 

Consider,  in  the  next  plaee^  that  to  secure  that 
largest  good,  to  create  and  preserve  a country,  and 
thus  to  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  man  as  far  as 
that  grand  and  vast  instrumentality  may  be  made  to 
contribute  to  happiness,  it  became  indispensable  to 
take  upon  themselves,  for  themselves,  and  for  all  the 
generations  who  should  folloAv,  certain  engagements 
with  those  to  whom  we  became  united.  Some  of 
these  engagements  were  express.  Such  is  that  for 
the  restoration  of  persons  owing  service  according  to 
the  law  of  a State,  and  flying  from  it.  That  is  ex- 
press. It  is  written  in  this  Constitution  in  terms.  It 
was  inserted  in  it,  by  what  passed,  sixty  years  ago, 
for  the  morality  and  religion  of  Massachusetts  and 


414  THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 

New  England.  Yes ; it  was  written  there  by  men 
who  knew  their  Bible,  Old  Testament  and  New,  as 
thoroughly,  and  reverenced  it  and  its  Divine  Author 
and  his  Son,  the  Saviour  and  Redeemer,  as  profoundly 
as  we.  Others  of  those  engagements,  and  those  how 
vast  and  sacred,  were  implied.  It  is  not  enough  to 
say  that  the  Constitution  did  not  give  to  the  new 
nation  a particle  of  power  to  intermeddle  by  law 
with  slavery  within  its  States,  and  therefore  it  has 
no  such  power.  This  is  true,  but  not  all  the  truth. 
No  man  pretends  we  have  power  to  intermeddle  by 
law.  But  how  much  more  than  this  is  implied  in 
the  sacred  relation  of  country.  It  is  a marriage  of 
more  than  two,  for  more  than  a fleeting  natural  life. 
“ It  is  to  be  looked  on  with  other  reverence.”  It  is 
an  engagement,  as  between  the  real  parties  to  it,  an 
eogagement  the  most  solemn,  to  love,  honor,  cherish, 
and  keep  through  all  the  ages  of  a nation.  It  is  an 
engagement  the  most  solemn,  to  cultivate  those  atfec- 
tions  that  shall  lighten  and  perpetuate  a tie  which 
ought  to  last  so  long.  It  is  an  engagement  then, 
which  limits  the  sphere,  and  controls  the  enterprises 
of  philanthropy  itself.  If  you  discern  that  by  violat- 
ing the  express  pledge  of  the  Constitution,  and 
refusing  to  permit  the  fugitive  to  be  restored ; by 
violating  the  implied  pledges ; by  denying  the  Chris- 
tianity of  the  holder  of  slaves ; by  proclaiming  him 
impure,  cruel,  undeserving  of  affection,  trust,  and 
regard ; that  by  this  passionate  and  vehement  ag- 
gression upon  the  prejudices,  institutions,  and  invest- 
ments of  a whole  region  — that  by  all  this  you  are 
dissolving  the  ties  of  country;  endangering  its  dis- 
ruption ; frustrating  the  policy  on  which  our  fathers 


THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


415 


created  it ; and  bringing  into  jeopardy  the  multiform 
and  incalculable  good  which  it  was  designed  to  se- 
cure, and  would  secure,  — then,  whatever  foreign 
philanthropy  might  do,  in  such  a prospect,  — your 
philanthropy  is  arrested  and  rebuked  by  a “ higher 
law.”  In  this  competition  of  affections.  Country, — 
“ omnes  omnium  charitates  compleetens,'’’  the  expression, 
the  sum  total  of  all  things  most  dearly  loved,  surely 
holds  the  first  place. 

Will  anybody  say  that  these  engagements  thus 
taken,  for  these  ends,  are  but  “ covenants  with  hell,” 
which  there  is  no  morality  and  no  dignity  in  keeping? 
From  such  desperate  and  shameless  fanaticism  — if 
such  there  is  — I turn  to  the  moral  sentiments  of  this 
assembly.  It  is  not  here  — it  is  not  in  this  hall  — the 
blood  of  Warren  in  the  chair  — the  form  of  Washing- 
ton before  you  — that  I will  defend  the  Constitution 
from  the  charge  of  being  a compact  of  guilt.  I will 
not  here  defend  the  Convention  which  framed  it,  and 
the  Conventions  and  people  which  adopted  it,  from 
the  charge  of  having  bought  this  great  blessing  of 
country,  by  immoral  promises,  more  honored  in  the 
breach  than  the  observance.  Thank  God,  we  yet 
hold  that  that  transaction  was  honest,  that  work 
beautiful  and  pure ; and  those  engagements,  in  all 
their  length  and  breadth  and  height  and  depth, 
sacred. 

Yet  I will  say  that,  if  to  the  formation  of  such  a 
Union  it  was  indispensable,  as  we  know  it  was,  to 
contract  these  engagements  expressed  and  implied, 
no  covenant  made  by  man  ever  rested  on  the  basis  of 
a sounder  morality.  They  tell  us  that  although  you 
have  the  strict  right,  according  to  the  writers  on 


416 


THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


public  law,  to  whom  Mr.  Curtis  has  referred,  to  re- 
store the  fugitive  slave  to  his  master,  yet  that  the 
virtue  of  compassion  commands  you  not  to  do  so. 
But  in  order  to  enable  ourselves  to  do  all  that  good, 
and  avert  all  that  evil  — boundless  and  inappreciable 
both  — which  we  do  and  avert  by  the  instrumentality 
of  a Union  under  a common  government,  may  we  not, 
on  the  clearest  moral  principles,  agree  not  to  exercise 
compassion  in  that  particular  way  ? The  mere  virtue 
of  compassion  would  command  you  to  rescue  any 
prisoner.  But  the  citizen,  to  the  end  that  he  may  be 
enabled,  and  others  be  enabled,  to  indulge  a more 
various  and  useful  compassion  in  other  modes,  agrees 
not  to  indulge  it  practically  in  that  mode.  Is  such  a 
stipulation  immoral  ? No  more  so  is  this  of  the  Con- 
stitution. 

They  tell  us  that  slavery  is  so  wicked  a thing,  that 
they  must  pursue  it,  by  agitation,  to  its  home  in  the 
States ; and  that  if  there  is  an  implied  engagement 
to  abstain  from  doing  so,  it  is  an  engagement  to 
neglect  an  opportunity  of  doing  good,  and  void  in 
the  forum  of  conscience.  But  was  it  ever  heard  of, 
that  one  may  not  morally  bind  himself  to  abstain 
from  what  he  thinks  a particular  opportunity  of 
doing  good?  A contract  in  general  restraint  of 
philanthropy,  or  any  other  useful  calling,  is  void ; 
but  a contract  to  abstain  from  a specific  sphere  of 
exertion  is  not  void,  and  may  be  wise  and  right. 
To  entitle  himself  to  instruct  heathen  children  on 
week  days,  might  not  a pious  missionary  engage  not 
to  attempt  to  preach  to  their  parents  on  Sunday  ? 
To  win  the  opportunity  of  achieving  the  mighty 
good  summed  up  in  the  pregnant  language  of  the 


THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION.  417 


preamble  to  the  Constitution,  such  good  as  man  has 
not  on  this  earth  been  many  times  permitted  to  do  or 
dream  of,  we  might  well  surrender  the  privilege  of 
reviling  the  masters  of  slaves  with  whom  we  must 
“either  live  or  bear  no  life.” 

Will  the  philanthropist  tell  you  that  there  is  no- 
thing conspicuous  enough,  and  glorious  enough  for 
him,  in  thus  refraining  from  this  agitation,  just  be- 
cause our  relations  to  the  South,  under  the  Constitu- 
tion, seem  to  forbid  it  ? Ay,  indeed  ! Is  it  even  so  ? 
Is  his  morality  of  so  ambitious  and  mounting  a type 
that  an  effort,  by  the  exercise  of  love  or  kindness  or 
tolerance,  to  knit  still  closer  the  hearts  of  a great 
people,  and  thus  to  insure  ages  of  peace  — of  pro- 
gress, of  enjoyment  — to  so  vast  a mass  of  the  family 
of  man,  seems  too  trivial  a feat?  Oh,  how  stupen- 
dous a mistake  ! What  achievement  of  philanthropy 
bears  any  proportion  to  the  pure  and  permanent 
glory  of  that  achievement  whereby  clusters  of  con- 
tiguous States,  perfectly  organized  governments  in 
themselves  every  one,  full  of  energy,  conscious  of 
strength,  full  of  valor,  fond  of  war,  — instead  of 
growing  first  jealous,  then  hostile,  — like  the  tribes 
of  Greece  after  the  Persian  had  retired, — like  the 
cities  of  Italy  at  the  dawn  of  the  modern  world,  — are 
melted  into  one,  so  that  for  centuries  of  internal 
peace  the  grand  agencies  of  amelioration  and  ad- 
vancement shall  operate  unimpeded ; the  rain  and 
dew  of  Heaven  descending  on  ground  better  and 
still  better  prepared  to  admit  them ; the  course  of 
time  — the  Providence  of  God  — leading  on  that 
noiseless  progress  whose  wheels  shall  turn  not  back, 
whose  consummation  shall  be  in  the  brightness  of 

27 


418 


THE  PRESEKVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 


the  latter  day.  What  achievement  of  man  may  he 
compared  with  this  achievement?  For  the  slave, 
alone,  what  promises  half  so  much  ? And  this  is  not 
glorious  enough  for  the  ambition  of  philanthropy ! 

No,  Fellow-citizens  — first  of  men  are  the  builders 
of  empires ! Here  it  is,  my  friends,  here  — right 
here  — in  doing  something  in  our  day  and  generation 
towards  “ forming  a more  perfect  Union  ” — in  doing 
something  by  literature,  by  public  speech,  by  sound 
industrial  policy,  by  the  careful  culture  of  fraternal 
love  and  regard,  by  the  intercourse  of  business  and 
friendship,  by  all  the  means  within  our  command  — 
in  doing  something  to  leave  the  Union,  when  we  die, 
stronger  than  we  found  it,  — here  — here  is  the  field 
of  our  grandest  duties  and  highest  rewai-ds.  Let  the 
grandeur  of  such  duties,  let  the  splendor  of  such 
rewards,  suffice  us.  Let  them  reconcile  and  constrain 
us  to  turn  from  that  equivocal  philanthropy  which 
violates  contracts,  which  tramples  on  law,  which  con- 
founds the  whole  subordination  of  virtues,  which 
counts  it  a light  thing  that  a nation  is  rent  asunder, 
and  the  swords  of  brothers  sheathed  in  the  bosoms 
of  brothers,  if  thus  the  chains  of  one  slave  may  be 
violently  and  prematurely  broken. 


SPEECH  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 


419 


SPEECH  DELIVERED  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 

OCTOBER  31,  1853. 


I AM  gratified,  beyond  tbe  poTver  of  language  to 
express,  by  your  kindness.  By  this  tlironging  audi- 
ence I am  even  more  gratified.  In  this  alone  I hope 
I see  tbe  doom  of  the  geographical  party.  It  would 
have  been  a thing  portentous  and  mournful,  if  com- 
mercial Boston  had  not  thus  poured  itself  into  this 
Hall,  to  declare,  by  its  ten  thousand  voices,  against 
the  first  measure  tending  practically  and  with  a real 
menace  to  a separation  of  the  States  ever  yet  pre- 
sented, or  certainly  in  our  time  presented,  to  the 
judgment  or  the  passions  of  the  people  of  America. 
Who  should  be  of  the  earliest  to  discern  and  of  the 
wisest  to  decide  the  true  great  question  of  the  day? 
Did  anybody  suppose  that  your  intelligence  could 
not  see  what  a proposition  to  organize  the  people  of 
this  country  into  two  great  geographical  parties  must 
come  to,  if  successful?  Did  anybody  suppose  that, 
seeing  this,  you  would  help  it  on,  or  fall  asleep  upon 
it?  You,  the  children  of  the  merchant  princes, — 
you,  whose  profession  of  commerce  and  arts  give  you 
to  know  and  feel,  with  a sort  of  professional  con- 
sciousness and  intensity,  our  republic  to  be  one, — 
one  and  undivided ; one  and  indivisible,  let  us  say,  — 


420 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


you,  whose  hearts,  abroad,  yet  untravelled,  ha\6 
sometimes  leaped  up  when  you  have  seen  the  radiant 
flag,  burning  on  the  waste  sea,  along  the  desolate 
and  distant  coast,  beneath  unfamiliar  constellations ; 

— and  when  you  have  felt  your  country’s  great  arm 
around  you,  were  you  expected  to  be  indifferent 
upon  a proposition  to  rend  her  into  two  great  rabid 
factions,  or  to  be  cheated  into  a belief  that  there  was 
no  such  proposition  before  the  country  at  all  ? 

Thank  God,  this  sight  dispels  both  branches  of 
this  misapprehension.  The  city  is  here,  all  right  and 
straight  out!  Commerce  is  here  I Commerce,  in 
whose  wants,  on  whose  call,  the  Union,  this  Union, 
iinder  this  Constitution,  began  to  be  ; Commerce 
that  rocked  the  cradle  is  here,  — not  to  follow  the 
hearse,  but  to  keep  off  the  murderer;  or,  if  they 
prefer  it,  to  keep  off  the  doctor ! 

The  arts,  the  industry,  of  civilization,  of  intel- 
lect, and  of  the  people,  are  here ; they  to  which  the 
mines  and  wheat-fields  and  cotton-grounds  of  a boun- 
tiful and  common  country  supply  that  raw  material 
which  they  give  back  in  shapes  of  use  and  taste  and 
beauty  — they  are  here  ; — they  who  celebrated  the 
establishment  of  the  government  by  long  processions 
of  the  trades,  by  music  and  banners,  and  thanksgiving 
to  God,  — singing  together  as  morning  stars  over  the 
rising  ball,  for  the  hope  of  a future  of  rewarded  labor 

— they  are  here  to  bear  witness,  that  the  prayers  of 
the  fathers  have  been  graciously  heard,  and  to  re- 
member and  to  guard  that  instrumentality  of  constitu- 
tional union,  to  which,  under  his  goodness,  they  owe 
all  these  things.  Ay,  and  the  charities,  the  philan- 
thropy, the  humanity,  that  dwell  in  these  homes  and 


SPEECH  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 


421 


hearts,  are  here  to  make  their  protest  against  the  first 
step  to  moral  treason  — charities  that  love  all  human 
kind ; yet  are  comprehended  all  and  enfolded  in  the 
dear  name  of  country,  ^ — philanthropy  and  humanity 

— not  spasmodic,  not  savage,  not  the  cold  phrase  of 
the  politician,  not  hypocritical,  not  impatient,  but 
just,  wise,  combining,  working  with  — not  in  spite  of 

— the  will  of  the  Highest,  sowing  the  seed  with 
tears,  with  trust,  and  committing  the  harvest  to  the 
eternal  years  of  God  — these  are  here.  Yes,  we  are 
all  here.  We  come  to  ratify  the  ratification.  We 
come  to  say  to  our  excellent  representatives  in  the 
late  Convention,  again  and  again,  Well  done,  good 
and  faithful!  We  come  to  engage  our  hearty  sup- 
port and  our  warmest  good  wishes  for  the  success  of 
the  candidates  they  have  nominated,  every  man  of 
them.  We  come  to  declare  that  upon  trying  our- 
selves by  all  the  approved  tests,  we  are  perfectly 
satisfied  that  we  are  alive ; that  we  are  glad  we  are 
alive,  since  there  is  work  to  do  worthy  of  us ; that 
we  prefer  to  remain  for  the  present  Whigs  I Consti- 
tutional Whigs!  Massachusetts  Whigs!  Faneud  Hall 
Whigs!  Daniel  Webster  and  Henry  Clay  Whigs!  — 
that  we  have  no  new  party  to  choose  to-night ; that, 
when  we  have,  we  shall  choose  any  other,  ay,  any 
other,  than  that  which  draws  the  black  line  of  phys- 
ical and  social  geography  across  the  charmed  surface 
of  our  native  land,  and  finds  a republic  on  one  side 
to  love,  and  nothing  but  an  aristocracy  to  be  “ ab- 
horred ” and  “ avoided  ” on  the  other ! Take  any 
shape  but  that!  We  come  to  protest,  with  all  pos- 
sible emphasis  and  solemnity,  against  the  inaugura- 
tion, as  they  call  it,  of  the  party  of  the  sections. 


422 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


W e say  that  for  any  object  which  constitutional  pa- 
triotism can  approve,  such  a party  is  useless.  We 
say,  that  for  its  own  avowed  objects,  if  it  has  an}^ 
specific  and  definite  objects  which  are  constitutional 
and  just,  it  is  useless.  We  say,  that  if  defeated  in 
its  attempt  to  get  possession  of  the  national  govern- 
ment, the  mere  struggle  will  insure  the  triumph  of 
that  very  administration  on  which  it  seems  to  make 
war ; will  make  the  fortune  of  certain  local  dealers 
in  politics  ; will  agitate  and  alienate  and  tend  to  put 
asunder  whom  God  hath  joined.  We  hold  that  if  it 
should  succeed  in  that  attempt,  it  would  be  the  most 
terrible  of  public  calamities.  I,  for  one,  do  not  be- 
lieve that  this  nation  could  bear  it.  I am  not,  it  is 
true,  quite  of  the  mind  of  the  Senator  from  Ohio, 
who  dared  to  tell  an  assembly  in  Maine,  not  many 
days  since,  that  there  is  now  no  union  between  us 
and  the  South ; that  the  pretended  Union  is  all  mere- 
tricious ; that  there  is  no  heart  in  it ; that  Russia 
does  not  hate  England,  nor  England  Russia,  more 
than  the  men  of  the  North  and  the  men  of  the  South 
hate  each  other.  The  allegation  is,  I think,  yet  un- 
true ; the  pleasure,  the  apparent  pleasure  and  exul- 
tation with  which  he  uttered  it,  is  nothing  less  than 
awful ! But  yet,  when  we  keep  in  view,  as  ever  we 
must,  the  grand  and  unalterable  conditions  and  pe- 
culiarities of  the  American  national  life ; the  capital 
fact  lying  underneath,  that  we  are  historically,  bj 
constitutional  law,  and  to  a vast  practical  extent,  a 
mere  neighborhood  of  separate  and  sovereign  States, 
united  practically  by  a written  league,  or  more  accu- 
rately, by  a government  holding  only  a few  great 
powers,  and  touching  a few  large  objects ; united 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


423 


better,  perhaps,  so  far  as  united  at  all,  by  the  moral 
ties  of  blood  and  race,  a common  flag,  the  memory  of 
common  dangers,  the  heritage  of  a common  glory ; — 
united  thus,  partially  by  that  subtile  essence  of  na- 
tionality, the  consciousness  of  unity,  the  pride  of 
unity,  — itself  a spirit  of  recent  creation,  requiring 
still  to  be  solicited,  to  be  reinforced,  to  be  diffused  ; 
having  regard  to  those  instrumentalities  and  influ- 
ences, moral  and  physical,  ■which  encompass  us  ever 
and  endanger  us,  and  especially  to  the  consideration 
that  besides  the  centrifugal  tendencies  of  sovereign 
States,  impelling  them  ever  apart,  there  is  a line,  — 
a dark,  dark  line,  — almost  a fissure  in  the  granite, 
■whose  imperfect  cohesion  can  scarcely  resist  the  vast 
■weight  on  either  side ; — recollecting  these  things, 
and  recollecting,  too,  how  much  more  than  by  reason 
or  public  virtue  or  their  true  interests,  men  are 
moved  by  anger,  pride,  and  force,  in  great  civil 
crises,  — in  any  ■way  we  can  survey  it,  we  cannot 
possibly  fail  to  see  that  the  process  of  forming  such  an 
organization,  and  its  influence,  if  completely  formed 
and  fully  in  action,  would  compose  a new  and  disturb- 
ing element  in  our  sj^stem,  which  it  is  scarcely  able 
to  encounter,  and  to  which  no  wise  man  and  genuine 
Unionist  would  not  shudder  to  see  it  exposed. 

Why,  look  at  it.  Here  is  a stupendous  fabric  of 
architecture  ; a castle  ; a capitol ; suppose  the  capitol 
at  Washington.  It  is  a fortress  at  once,  and  a temple. 
The  great  central  dome  swells  to  heaven.  It  rests 
grandly  on  its  hill  by  its  own  weight  kept  steadfast, 
and  seemingly  immovable  ; Titan  hands  might  have 
built  it ; it  may  stand  to  see  the  age  of  a nation  pass 
by.  But  one  imperfection  there  is ; a seam  in  the 


424 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


marble  ; a flaw  in  the  iron  ; a break  scar  cel}'  visible, 
yet  a real  vertical  fissure,  parting  by  an  impercep- 
tible opening  from  top  to  foundation  the  whole  in 
two.  The  builder  saw  it,  and  guarded  against  it  as 
well  as  he  might ; those  who  followed,  to  repair,  with 
pious  and  skilful  hands,  tried  by  underpinning,  by  lat- 
eral support,  by  buttress  and  buttress  alternately,  to 
hold  the  disjointed  sides  in  contact.  Practically,  it 
was  becoming  less  formidable ; the  moss  was  begin- 
ning to  conceal  it,  even;  and  here  comes  a workman 
who  proposes  to  knock  out  the  well-planned  lateral 
supports,  loosen  the  underpinning  of  the  ends,  dig  a 
yawning  excavation  under  both  of  them,  and  then 
set  on  each  the  mountain  weight  of  a frowning  and 
defiant  dome  of  its  own.  Down  the  huge  pile  topples 
in  an  hour.  Small  compensation  it  is  that  the  archi- 
tect of  ruin  finds  his  grave,  too,  beneath  it ! 

It  is  to  do  what  we  may  to  scatter  this  organiza- 
tion in  its  beginnings  that  we  are  here  to-night.  It 
is  for  this  opportunity,  chiefly,  that  the  Whigs  of 
IMassachusetts  are  absolutely  glad  that  they  are  alive. 
True,  we  seek  also  to  redeem  Massachusetts.  That 
last  legislative  year  of  all  sorts  of  ignorance,  and  all 
sorts  of  folly,  and  all  sorts  of  corruption  ; not  dignified, 
but  made  hateful  and  shameful  by  a small  and  mean 
mimicry  of  treason,  withal  — we  would  blot  it  all  out 
from  our  proud  annals  for  ever.  The  year  which 
deserted  Washburn,  slighted  the  counsels  of  Clifford, 
struck  a feeble  but  malignant  blow  at  the  judicial  ten- 
ure, nullified  a law  of  the  Uiiion,  constitutional,  if 
the  Constitution  is  constitutional,  — we  wonld  forget. 
Let  it  not  come  into  the  number  of  our  months.  In 
fact,  let  us  talk  of  something  else. 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


425 


Yes,  Whigs  of  Boston  and  Massachusetts!  We 
strike  at  higher  game.  It  is  because  the  experiment 
is  now  making,  whether  a sectional  party,  merging 
and  overriding  all  others,  is  possible  ; whether  candi- 
dates for  the  presidency  shall  openly  electioneer  for 
that  office,  by  advocating  the  formation  of  such  a 
party,  and  not  see  the  mantling  cup  of  honors,  to 
which  they  are  reaching,  dashed  to  their  feet  bj^  the 
indignation  of  the  whole  country  — it  is  because  this 
experiment  is  making  to-day,  that  we  feel  that  we 
have  a duty  to  do.  Who  of  us  knows  that  it  is  not 
his  last  civil  labor  ? Who  of  us  does  not  feel  that  if 
it  were  so,  our  noblest  labor  were  our  last?  Were  it 
even  so,  what  signifies  it  whether  we  personally  and 
politically  sink  or  swim  — live  or  die  — survive  or 
perish ! Would  not  that  be  a bright  page  wherein 
the  historian,  after  having  recorded  in  the  former 
chapters  of  his  book  the  long  antecedents  of  the 
Whigs,  — that  they  held  the  government  of  this  good 
old  State,  with  small  exception,  for  a quarter  of  a 
century ; that  they  held  it  long  enough  to  embody 
their  j)olitics  in  official  state  papers  ; on  the  statute 
book ; in  public  speech ; through  their  accredited 
press ; in  the  prevailing  tone  and  maxims  of  public  life  ; 
long  enough  to  see  those  politics  bear  rich,  practical, 
autumnal  fruits  ; that  while  they  held  power,  popular 
education  was  improved  ; the  instrumentalities  of  in- 
tercourse of  all  parts  of  the  State  with  each  other, 
and  with  the  States  beyond,  were  multiplied  and 
perfected,  and  the  universal  industrial  prosperity  of 
the  people  advanced  by  the  reforming  hand,  reform- 
ing wisely ; that  the  sentiment  of  obedience  to  law, 
popular  or  unpopular,  while  law,  of  observance  of 


426 


SPEECH  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 


order,  of  the  supremacy  of  the  national  Constitution, 
within  its  limits  over  the  State,  and  of  the  State  con- 
stitution over  the  legislature ; of  the  practicability 
and  the  necessity  of  reconciling  and  performing  all 
political  duties,  not  one,  nor  half,  but  all,  — that  this 
sentiment  was  taught  and  was  practised  ; that  liberty 
of  conscience  was  held  sacred  ; that  the  right  to  be 
represented  equally  in  the  government  of  the  State 
was  recognized,  and  sought  to  be  retained  in  the  Con- 
stitution as  belonging  to  every  human  being,  because 
such,  inhabiting  her  soil ; that  they  held  even  good 
laws  powerless,  and  a government  of  laws  impossible, 
if  not  interpreted  and  administered  by  judges  as  im- 
partial as  the  lot  of  humanity  will  admit,  and  helped 
to  be  so  by  the  tenure  of  independence  of  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  party  ; that  although  ever  they  boasted  to  be 
a branch  of  a national  Whig  connection,  and  as  such 
held  a creed  of  national  politics,  combining  a policy 
of  peace  with  honor,  industry  protected  by  wise  dis- 
crimination, improvement  of  the  great  natural  agen- 
cies of  intercourse,  a provident  and  liberal  and  states- 
manlike administration  of  the  public  domain,  — a 
creed  on  which  wise  and  good  men  of  every  State,  in 
large  numbers,  sometimes  by  large  majorities,  were 
with  them ; although  they  held  this  creed  of  union, 
they  yet  left  themselves  wholly  free  to  cherish  and 
act  on  the  local  sentiment  of  slavery ; that  they 
opposed  its  extension  by  their  press,  by  their  vote,  by 
public  debate  — its  extension  by  annexation  of  Texas 
and  Cuba,  and  by  repeal  of  the  compromise,  and  that 
their  greatest  and  best,  all  who  represented  them,  did 
so  ever  up  to  the  limits  of  the  Constitution  and  an  hon- 
est statesmanship,  and  paused  reverentially  there  ; — 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


427 


n-ould  it  not  be  a glorious  page  on  whicb,  after  con- 
cluding this  detail,  he  should  record  that  their  last 
organic  act  was  to  meet  the  dark  wave  of  this  tide  of 
sectionalism  on  the  strand,  breast  high,  and  roll  it 
back  upon  its  depths  ; ay,  or  to  be  buried  under  it ! 
Would  not  that  he  higher  than  to  follow  the  advice 
of  one,  once  of  us,  who  counsels  the  Whigs  to  march 
out  of  the  field  with  all  the  honors  ? Yes,  we 
reject  the  word  of  command.  We  will  not  march 
out  of  the  field  at  all.  We  will  stand  just  where  we 
are,  and  defend  those  honors  and  add  to  them.  Per- 
haps we  may  fall.  That  were  better  than  the  fiight 
he  advises;  to  fall,  and  let  our  recorded  honors 
thicken  on  our  graves.  That  were  better  than  flight ; 
but  who  can  tell  that  there  are  not  others  higher  to 
be  won  yet  ? Laurels  farther  up  ; more  precious  — 
less  perislung ; to  be  won  by  more  heroic  civil  duty, 
and  the  austerer  glory  of  more  self-sacrifice.  Be 
these  ungathered  laurels  ours  to  reap ! 

But  it  occurs  to  me,  that  I have  been  a little  too 
fast  in  assuming  that  your  minds  are  already  all  made 
up  not  to  join  this  geographical  party.  Let  us  then 
pause,  and  inspect  the  thing  a little.  Let  us  do  it 
under  a threefold  dissection.  See  then,  first,  exactly 
what  it  is  to  be  ; what,  if  completely  formed,  it  is  to 
he.  Second,  what  good  it  will  do.  And,  third,  what 
evil  it  will  do  ; what  evil  the  process  of  forming  it 
will  do ; what  evil  it  will  do  after  it  is  formed.  First, 
what  is  it  to  be,  when  formed  ? Exactly  an  organiza- 
tion of  all  the  people  of  the  free  States,  if  they  can 
get  all,  if  not,  majorities  of  all,  into  a political  party 
proper,  to  oppose  the  whole  people  of  all  the  slave 
States,  organized  into  just  such  another  association 


428 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


upon  the  single,  but  broad  and  fertile  topic  of  slavery. 
Into  this  organization,  on  one  side  and  the  other,  every 
other  party  is,  if  possible,  to  be  merged  ; certainly  by 
this  one,  every  other  is  to  be  out-voted  and  vanquished. 
This  promising  and  happy  consummation,  mark  you, 
is  to  be  a political  party  proper.  It  is  not  to  be  a 
public  opinion  on  slavery.  It  is  not  to  be  a public 
opinion  against  slavery.  It  is  not  to  be  a mere  uni- 
versal personal  conviction  of  every  man  which  he  may 
carry  with  him  into  all  his  political  duties  and  rela- 
tions, and  bind  up  with  his  Democratic  opinions,  or 
Whig  opinions,  or  Native  American  opinions  ; — that 
is  not  it,  at  all.  It  is  to  be,  and  act,  as  a political 
party  properly,  technically,  and  with  tremendous  em- 
phasis so  called.  It  is  to  fill  office,  make  laws,  gov- 
ern great  States,  govern  the  nation ; and  to  do  this 
by  the  one  single  test  of  what  is  called  opposition  to 
slavery ; on  the  one  single  impulse  of  hate  and  dread 
of  the  aristocracy  of  the  South,  by  which  slavery  is 
maintained.  To  carry  out  this  opposition,  to  breathe 
forth  this  hate,  and  this  dread  in  action,  it  lives ; 
it  holds  its  conventions,  supports  its  press,  selects  its 
candidates,  prescribes  their  creed,  conducts  its  elec- 
tioneering, and  directs  every  act  that  it  does  and 
every  word  that  it  speaks.  And  now,  when  you  con- 
sider how  prodigious  an  agency  in  a republic  a flushed 
and  powerful  party  is  at  the  best ; when  you  remem- 
ber what  it  has  done  to  shame  and  scare  away  libert}'’ 
from  her  loved  haunts  and  home  by  the  blue  JEgean, 
or  beneath  the  sunny  skies  of  Italy  ; when  you  con- 
sider how  party,  as  the  general  fact,  is  sure  to  form 
and  guide  that  public  opinion  which  rules  the  world ; 
how  it  grows  to  be  “the  madness  of  the  many  for  the 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


429 


benefit  of  the  few ; ” when  you  consider  that  to  win 
or  retain  the  general  voice,  all  the  ability  this  organi- 
zation can  possibly  command  will  be  enlisted  and 
paid ; that  it  will  offer  office  to  the  ambitious,  spoils 
to  the  greedy,  the  dear,  delicious  indulgence  of  his 
one  single  idea  to  the  zealot,  strong  in  faith,  fierce 
and  narrow  in  his  creed ; to  the  sentimentalist  and 
litterateur,  the  corrupting  praise  of  a foreign  press  ; to 
a distempered  and  unmeaning  philanthropy,  the  cure 
of  one  evil  by  the  creation  of  ten  thousand ; meditat- 
ing on  these  things,  you  attain  to  some  conception 
of  what  this  party  is  to  be. 

And  now  what  good  is  it  to  do  ? And,  first,  what 
on  earth  is  it  going  to  do,  anyhow  ? It  is  formed,  we 
will  say.  It  has  triumphed.  It  has  got  power  in  the 
free  States.  It  has  got  the  general  government.  It 
has  chosen  its  president.  It  has  got  a majority  in 
both  houses  of  congress.  The  minority  are  a body  of 
representatives  of  slaveholders.  And  they  have  met 
in  the  great  chambers.  What  to  do?  Now,  it  is 
agreed,  on  all  hands,  that  in  regard  to  what  they  are 
to  do  as  a party,  on  any  subject,  human  or  divine,  out- 
side of  slavery,  we  know  no  more  than  if  they  were  so 
many  men  let  down  in  so  many  baskets  from  the  clouds. 
As  a party,  — and  they  gained  power  as  a party,  they 
are  to  rule  us  as  a party  ; — but  as  a party  they 
solemnly  adjure  that  they  hold  no  opinion  on  any 
thing  whatever,  on  any  thing  but  slavery.  They 
spread  their  arms  wide  open  to  every  humor  of  the 
human  mind ; to  all  the  forms  of  sense  and  nonsense ; 
to  more  irreconcilable  and  belligerent  tempers  and 
politics  than  ever  quarrelled  in  a menagerie  ; to  men 
of  war  and  men  of  peace  ; to  the  friend  of  annexation, 


430 


SPEECH  IN  FANEUIL  HALL. 


if  he  can  find  free  soil  to  annex,  as  you  may,  in 
Canada,  and  the  enemy  of  any  more  area ; to  protec- 
tionists and  free  traders ; men  of  strict,  and  men  of 
large  construction,  and  men  of  no  construction  at  all ; 
temperance  men  and  anti- temperance  men ; the  advo- 
cate of  ten  hours  of  labor,  the  advocate  of  twelve,  — 
in  short,  they  make  a general  bid  for  every  opinion 
on  every  thing,  with  the  pledge  of  the  party  to  each 
and  all,  that  if  they  will  roar  with  a common  consent, 
and  make  a satisfactory  hullabaloo  on  slavery,  every 
man  of  them  shall  have  a fair  chance,  and  no  privi- 
lege, and  everybody  may  enact  every  thing,  if  he 
can. 

And  now,  in  the  name  of  all  common  sense,  in  the 
whole  history  of  elective  government,  was  a free  peo- 
ple ever  called  on  to  commit  power,  the  whole  vast 
enginery,  the  whole  thunder  of  the  State,  to  such  a 
ruler  as  this ! Slavery,  they  do  say,  they  will  oppose, 
right  and  left ; but  what  other  one  maxim  of  govern- 
ment they  will  adopt,  state  or  national ; what  one 
law,  on  what  one  subject,  they  will  pass ; what  one 
institution,  or  one  policy  of  the  fathers  they  will 
spare  ; what  one  sentiment  they  will  inculcate ; what 
one  glory  they  will  prize  ; what  of  all  that  government 
can  cause  or  cure,  they  will  cause  or  cure  or  try  to 
— we  have  no  more  to  guide  us  than  if  they  were  an 
encampment  of  a race  never  seen  before,  poured  by 
some  populous  and  unknown  North,  from  her  frozen 
loins ! How  mad,  how  contemptible  to  deliver  our- 
selves over  to  such  a veiled  enthusiast  as  this  ! Bet- 
ter the  urn  and  the  lot  of  Solon  — better  the  fantastic 
chances  of  hereditary  descent,  a thousand-fold. 

Well,  on  their  one  single  specialty  of  slavery,  what 


SPEECH  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 


431 


are  they  going  to  do  ? And  I say  that  we  have  not 
one  particle  more  of  evidence  what  specific  thing,  or 
what  thing  in  general  they  mean  to  do  on  slavery,  than 
on  any  thing  else.  I do  say  this,  however,  that  those 
honest  men,  who,  in  the  simplicity  of  their  hearts, 
have  sympathized  with  this  new  party  in  the  hope  of 
having  the  Missouri  Compromise  restored,  have  not 
one  particle  of  assurance  that  they  would  do  it  if  they 
could  ; or  that,  if  they  could,  they  would  rest  there,  or 
withiu  half  the  globe  of  it.  Loud  they  are  in  their 
reprobation  of  the  repeal.  So  are  we  all ! But  is 
it  a restoration  they  seek?  No,  nothing  so  little. 
When,  a few  days  ago,  a respectable  Whig  gentle- 
man presented  himself  at  one  of  their  meetings,  and 
being  invited  to  speak,  began  bj^  saying  that  they 
were  all  there  to  unite  for  the  repeal  of  the  repeal, 
they  hissed  him  incontinently.  Less  discourteously  in 
the  manner  of  it,  quite  as  unequivocally  they  have 
set  forth  in  terms  the  most  explicit,  in  the  address  of 
their  convention,  that  the  restoration  of  the  Compro- 
mise of  1820  is  not  what  they  desire.  What  are  they 
to  do,  then,  if  thej''  win  power  ? Either  nothing  at  all 
which  Whigs  could  not  do,  and  would  not  do,  if  a 
wise  and  large  statesmanship  permit  it ; or  they  bring 
on  a conflict  which  separates  the  States.  Nothing 
at  all  which  we  would  not  do,  if  our  fidelity  to  the 
Constitution  wordd  allow  us,  or  that  which  under  the 
Constitution  cannot  be  done.  Nothing  at  all,  or  just 
what  their  agitation  from  1835  to  this  hour,  has  ac- 
complished,— rivet  the  iron  chains  of  the  slave, 
loose  the  golden  bands  of  the  Union.  So  much  for 
the  good  it  will  do. 

But  now  survey  the  evil  it  would  do.  We  cannot. 


432 


SPEECH  IN  PANEUIL  HALL. 


of  course,  foreknow  exactly  what  it  would  do,  if  it 
could,  nor  liow  much,  exactly,  it  could  do,  if  it  would. 
We  cannot  know,  in  other  words,  exactly  where  or 
when  or  how,  if  it  attained  the  whole  power  that  it 
seeks,  it  would  bring  on  the  final  strife.  But  one 
thing  we  know,  that  they  cannot,  by  possibility,  go 
through  the  process  of  merely  and  completely  organiz- 
ing such  a party  but  by  elaborately  and  carefully  train- 
ing the  men  on  this  side  of  their  line  to  “ abhor  ” and 
“ avoid  ” the  men  on  the  other.  The  basis  of  the  or- 
ganization is  reciprocal  sectional  hate.  This  is  the 
sentiment  at  bottom.  This,  and  nothing  else.  To 
form  and  heighten  this ; to  fortify  and  justify  it ; to 
show  that  it  is  moral  and  necessary  and  brave,  the 
whole  vast  enginery  of  party  tactics  is  to  be  put  in 
request.  If  the  ingenuity  of  hell  were  tasked  for  a 
device  to  alienate  and  rend  asunder  our  immature 
and  artificial  nationality,  it  coidd  devise  nothing  so 
effectual ! 

I take  my  stand  here  ! I resist  and  deprecate  the 
mere  attempt  to  form  the  party.  I don’t  expect  to  live 
to  see  it  succeed  in  its  grasp  at  power.  I am  sure  I hope 
I shall  not,  but  I see  the  attempt  making.  I think  I 
see  the  dreadful  influence  of  such  an  attempt.  That 
influence  I would  expose.  Woe  ! woe  ! to  the  sower 
of  such  seed  as  this ! It  may  perish  where  it  falls. 
The  God  of  our  fathers  may  withhold  the  early  and 
latter  rain  and  the  dew,  and  the  grain  may  die  ; but 
woe  to  the  hand  that  dares  to  scatter  it. 

Painful  it  is  to  see  some  of  whom  a higher  hope 
might  have  been  cherished,  on  motives  and  with  views 
I dare  say  satisfactory  to  themselves,  giving  aid  and 
comfort  to  such  a thing.  In  looking  anxiously  out  of 


SPEECH  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 


433 


my  own  absolute  retirement  from  every  form  of  pub- 
lic life,  to  observe  bow  the  movers  of  this  new  party 
mean  to  urge  it  upon  the  people,  what  topics  they 
mean  to  employ,  what  aims  they  mean  to  propose, 
and,  above  all,  what  tone  and  spirit  they  mean  to 
breathe  and  spread,  and  what  influence  to  exert  on 
the  sectional  passions  or  the  national  sentiments  of 
our  country  — I have  had  occasion  to  read  something 
of  their  spoken  and  written  exhortations  — this  in- 
auguration eloquence  of  sectionalism  — and  think  I 
comprehend  it.  And  what  work  do  they  make  of  it  ? 
Yes — what?  With  what  impression  of  your  coun- 
try, your  whole  country  — that  is  the  true  test  of  a 
party  platform  and  a party  appeal  — do  you  rise  from 
listening  to  the  preachers  of  this  new  faith  ? What 
lesson  of  duty  to  all,  and  of  the  claims  of  all,  and  of 
love  to  all,  has  it  taught  you  ? Does  not  our  America 
seem  to  lose  her  form,  her  color,  her  vesture,  as  you 
read?  Does  not  the  magic  of  the  metamorphosis 
come  on  her  ? 

“ Her  spirits  faint, 

Her  blooming  cheeks  assume  a pallid  teint, 

And  scarce  her  form  remains.” 

Does  it  not  seem  as  if  one  half  of  the  map  were 
blotted  out  or  rolled  up  for  ever  from  jrour  eye  ? Are 
you  not  looking  with  perplexity  and  pain,  your  spirits 
as  in  a dream  all  bound  up,  upon  a different,  another, 
and  a smaller  native  land  ? Where  do  you  And  in 
this  body  of  discourse  one  single  recollection  that 
North  and  South  compose  a common  country,  to 
which  our  most  pious  affections  are  due,  and  our 
whole  service  engaged?  Where,  beneath  this  logic 
and  this  rhetoric  of  sectionalism,  do  you  feel  one 

28 


434 


SPEECH  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 


throb  of  a heart  capacious  of  our  whole  America? 
The  deep,  full,  burning  tide  of  American  feeling,  so 
hard  to  counterfeit,  so  hard  to  chill,  does  it  once  glad- 
den and  glorify  this  inauguration  oratory  and  these 
inauguration  ceremonies?  Is  not  the  key-note  of  it 
all,  that  the  slaveholders  of  the  South  are  an  aristoc- 
racy to  be  “ abhorred  ” and  “ avoided ; ” that  thej'  are 
insidious  and  dangerous ; that  they  are  undermining 
our  republic,  and  are  at  all  hazards  to  be  resisted? 
Do  they  not  inaugurate  the  new  party  on  the  basis  of 
reciprocal  hate  and  reciprocal  fear  of  section  to  sec- 
tion? Hear  the  sharp  and  stern  logic  of  one  of  these 
orators  : — “ Aristocracy,  through  all  hazards,  is  to  be 
abhorred  and  avoided.  But  a privileged  class  are 
sure  to  become,  nay,  are,  an  aristocracy  already.  The 
local  Southern  law,  and  the  national  Constitution, 
make  the  slaveholders  a privileged  class.  They  are, 
therefore,  an  aristocracy  to  be  abhorred  and  avoided.” 
Such  is  the  piercing  key-note  of  his  speech.  To  this 
he  sets  his  whole  music  of  discord.  To  this  he  would 
set  the  whole  music  of  the  next  presidential  canvass. 
To  this,  the  tens  of  thousands  of  the  free  States  are 
to  march.  “ Abhor  ” and  “ avoid  ” the  aristocracy  of 
the  South!  Organize  to  do  it  the  better!  They  are 
insidious  and  dangerous.  They  are  undermining  re- 
publican liberty.  March  to  defend  it ! Ay,  march, 
were  it  over  the  burning  marl,  or  by  the  light  which 
the  tossing  wave  of  the  lake  casts  pale  and  dreadful. 

“ I might  show,”  the  same  orator  proceeds,  “ that 
the  Constitution  is  wrong  in  thus  conceding  to  a 
privileged  class.  I might  show,  a priori,  that  such 
a class  would  be  dangerous.  I choose  rather  to  teach 
yon  so  to  read  the  history  of  America,  that  you  shall 


SPEECH  m FANEUIL  HALL. 


435 


find  its  one  great  lesson  will  be  hatred  and  dread  of 
the  aristocracy  of  the  South,  for  its  conduct  even 
more  than  for  its  privileges.”  And  so  he  unrolls  the 
map,  and  opens  the  record.  He  traces  the  miracu- 
lous story ; he  traces  the  miraculous  growth  from  the 
birthday  of  the  Constitution,  and  from  the  straitened 
margin  of  the  old  thirteen  States,  through  all  the 
series  of  expansion,  — the  acquisition  of  Louisiana, 
and  the  adoption  of  that  State  into  the  Union ; the 
successive  adoption,  also,  of  Kentucky,  Tennessee, 
Mississippi,  Alabama,  and  Missouri;  the  annexation 
of  Florida  and  Texas  and  California,  — a growth 
in  fifty  years,  from  a narrow  heritage  between  the 
Atlantic  and  Alleghany,  and  the  spring-heads  of  the 
Connecticut  and  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Mary’s  in 
Georgia,  to  the  dimensions  of  Roman,  of  Russian,  of 
Asiatic  boundlessness,  — this  he  traces  across  the  Alle- 
ghanies,  across  the  imperial  valley  and  the  Father 
of  Rivers,  through  the  opened  portals  of  the  Rocky 
Mduntains  to  the  shores  of  the  great  tranquil  sea  — 
ay,  and  beyond  these  shores  to  richer  dominion  over 
the  commerce  of  the  East,  to  which  it  opens  a new  and 
nearer  way  — this  majestic  series,  our  glory,  our  shame, 
he  runs  over  ; and  the  one  single  lesson  he  gathers  and 
preaches  from  it  is,  that  the  aristocracy  of  the  South  is 
as  insidious  and  dangerous  and  undermining  in  practice 
as  it  is  threatening  a priori  ; that  we  should  “ abhor  ” 
and  “ avoid  ” it,  for  what  it  has  done,  as  well  as  for 
what  the  Constitution  and  the  laws  secure  to  it. 
This  is  the  lesson  of  the  History  of  America.  As  he 
studies  the  map  and  reads  the  history,  so  is  the  new 
party  to  do  it ; so  are  the  fathers,  and  so  are  the 
children  of  the  free  States  all  to  read  it ; it  is  to 


436 


SPEECH  m FANEUIL  HALL. 


teach  them  all  one  dull  lesson,  and  to  sound  in  their 
ears  one  single,  dreary,  and  monotonous  warning. 
The  annexation  of  Louisiana,  the  master-work  of 
Jefferson,  unless  you  say  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence is  his  master-work ; the  annexation  of 
Florida,  by  treaty,  for  which  John  Quincy  Adams 
acquired  so  just  a fame,  and  which  stipulates  for  the 
incorporation  of  its  inhabitants  into  the  Union  ; the 
victories  of  Palo  Alto,  Monterey,  Buena  Vista,  and 
Contreras,  which  crowned  the  arms  of  America  with 
a lustre  imperishable,  although  they  could  not  vindi- 
cate, to  justice  and  history,  the  administration  or  the 
politics  which  brought  on  the  war,  nor  the  Free 
Soilers  of  New  York,  whose  tactics  caused  the  elec- 
tion of  that  administration;  this  expansion,  so  stu- 
pendous — this  motion,  silent  and  resistless,  of  all 
the  currents  of  national  being  towards  the  setting- 
sun  — like  that  of  our  astronomical  system  itself, 
towards  the  distant  constellation  ; this  all  is  to  kin- 
dle no  emotion,  to  inspire  no  duty,  to  inculcate  no 
truth,  but  to  “ abhor  ” and  “ avoid  ” the  aristocracy, 
whose  rapacious  use  or  insidious  fabrication  of  oppor- 
tunity so  strikingly  illustrates  the  folly  of  the  Con- 
stitution. 

Oh  ! how  soothing  and  elevating  to  turn  from  this 
to  the  meridian  brightness,  the  descending  orb,  the 
whole  clear  day,  of  our  immortal  Webster!  How 
sweet,  how  instructive  to  hang  again  on  the  lips  now 
mute,  still  speaking,  whose  eloquence,  whose  wisdom, 
were  all  given  ever  to  his  whole  America  ! How 
grand  to  feel  again  the  beat  of  the  great  heart  which 
could  enfold  us  all ! He  saw,  too,  and  he  deplored 
the  spread  of  slavery.  He  marked,  and  he  resisted 


SPEECH  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 


437 


the  frenzy  of  the  politics  by  which  the  then  adminis- 
tration gave  it  so  vast  an  impulse  by  annexing’  Texas 
and  making  -n^ar  with  Mexico.  He  had  surveyed  — 
no  man  had  so  deeply  done  it  — the  growth  of  his 
country  from  the  rock  of  Plymouth  and  the  peninsula 
of  Jamestown  to  the  western  sea.  But  did  he  think  it 
just  to  trace  it  all  to  the  aggressive  spirit  of  the  aris- 
tocracy who  hold  slaves?  Could  his  balanced  and 
gigantic  intelligence  and  his  genuine  patriotism  have 
been  brought  to  believe  and  to  teach  that  the  single 
desire  to  find  a new  field  for  slavery  to  till,  has  in 
fifty  years  transformed  a strip  of  sea-coast  into  a 
national  domain  larger  than  Europe  ? 

Is  nothing  to  be  ascribed  to  the  necessities  of  na- 
tional situation  and  the  opportunities  of  national 
glory ; nothing  to  the  sober,  collective  judgment  of 
the  people  of  all  the  sections ; nothing  to  the  fore- 
sight of  some  great  men  — like  Jefferson  and  John 
Quincy  Adams  — who  loved  not  slavery,  nor  the 
expansion  of  the  area  of  slavery,  but  who  did  love 
their  country  dearly  and  wisely,  and  knew  that  that 
evil  would  be  more  than  compensated  by  the  exceed- 
ing good  ; nothing  to  a diffused,  vehement  national- 
ity, brave,  ambitious,  conscious  of  a mighty  strength, 
burning  to  try  itself  against  the  resistance  of  foreign 
contact,  and  finding  on  its  West  and  South-west 
border  no  equal  force  to  hold  it  back ; nothing  to  the 
blindness  of  mere  party  tactics  and  the  power  of  a 
popular  administration  ; nothing  to  the  love  of  glory, 
and  contention,  and  danger  which  flames  and  revels 
in  the  adolescent  national  heart  ? Is  it  all  mere  and 
sheer  negro-breeding  and  negro-selling  that  has  done 
this?  More.  Is  nothing  to  be  ascribed  to  the  in- 


438 


SPEECH  IN  EANEUIL  HALL. 


fluence  of  Northern  aggression  against  slavery,  pro- 
voking by  an  eternal  law  a Southern  rally  for  its 
defence  and  propagation  ? Have  these  great  readers 
of  our  history  forgotten  that  as  far  back  as  1805,  as 
1801,  the  press,  some  influential  portions  of  the  press 
of  a large  political  party  at  the  North,  began  to 
denounce  the  election  and  reelection  of  Jefferson  as  a 
triumph  of  the  slave  power ; the  acquisition  of  Louisi- 
ana, that  absolute  necessity  of  our  peace,  how  much 
more  of  our  greatness,  as  another  triumph  of  the 
slave  power ; that  this  form  of  sectionalism  already 
assailed  the  slave  representation  of  the  Constitution, 
and  tried  to  strike  it  out ; that  it  bore  its  part,  a 
large  part,  inflaming  New  England  to  the  measure 
of  the  Hartford  Convention  ; that,  hushed  to  silence 
by  the  fervid  flood  of  nationality  which  swept  the 
country  at  the  close  of  a war,  breathing  into  us  the 
full  first  inspiration  of  American  life,  it  awoke  again 
on  the  application  of  Missouri  for  admission ; that, 
silenced  once  more  by  that  adjustment,  a few  years 
later  it  took  on  the  more  virulent  type  of  abolition- 
ism ; and  from  that  moment,  helped  on  by  the  general 
progress  of  the  age,  it  has  never  ceased  for  an  hour 
to  make  war  on  the  institutions  of  the  South,  to  as- 
sail the  motives,  and  arraign  the  conscience  of  the 
slave-holder;  to  teach  to  “abhor”  and  to  “avoid” 
him,  and  denounce  the  Union  as  a compact  with  hell? 
Is  it  not  possible  that  a part  of  what  they  call  the 
aggressive  spirit  of  slavery  may  be  reaction  against 
our  own  aggression?  May  it  not  be,  that  in  this 
recrimination  of  the  sections,  and  in  the  judgment 
of  history,  there  may  be  blows  to  take  as  well  as 
blows  to  give  ? That  great  man  whose  name  I have 


SPEECH  IN  FAIsEUIL  HALL. 


439 


spoken,  could  see,  and  he  dared  to  admit,  the  errors 
of  both  sections.  In  those  errors,  in  this  very  hate 
and  this  very  dread  which  the  new  party  would 
organize,  he  saw  the  supreme  danger  of  his  countr3^ 
To  correct  those  errors,  to  allay  that  dread,  to  turn 
that  hate  to  love,  was  the  sublime  aim  of  his  last  and 
noblest  labor.  “ I am  looking  out,”  he  said,  “ not 
for  my  own  security  or  safety,  for  I am  looking  out 
for  no  fragment  on  which  to  float  away  from  the 
Avreck,  if  wreck  there  must  be,  but  for  the  good  of 
the  whole,  and  the  preservation  of  all.  I speak  to- 
day for  the  Union  ! Hear  me,  for  m3’  cause  ! ” He 
could  not  have  abandoned  himself,  he  never  saw  an 
hour  in  which  he  could  have  any  more  abandoned 
himself  to  this  gloomy  enterprise  of  sectionalism, 
than  Washington  could  have  done  it,  stooping  from 
the  pathos  and  grandeur  and  parental  love  of  the 
Farewell  Address ; than  the  leader  of  Israel  could 
have  done  it,  as  he  stood  in  that  last  hour  on  Pisgah 
and  survej'ed  in  vision  the  wide-spread  tents  of  the 
kindred  tribes,  rejoicing  together  in  the  peace  and  in 
the  light  of  their  nation’s  God.  O,  for  an  hour  of 
such  a life,  and  all  were  not  3'et  lost. 


440 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


SPEECH  “ON  THE  POLITICAL  TOPICS  NOW 
PROMINENT  BEFORE  THE  COUNTRY.” 

DELIVERED  AT  LOWELL,  MASS.,  OCTOBER  28,  1856. 


I HAVE  accepted  your  invitation  to  this  hall  with 
pleasure,  — although  it  is  pleasure  not  unattended  by 
pain. 

To  meet  you,  Fellow-citizens  of  Lowell  and  of 
Middlesex,  between  whom,  the  larger  number  of 
whom,  and  myself,  I may  hope,  from  the  terms  of 
the  call  under  which  you  assemble,  there  is  some 
sympathy  of  opinion  and  feeling  on  the  “political 
topics  now  prominent  before  the  community;”  to 
meet  and  confer,  however  briefly  and  imperfectly, 
on  the  condition  of  our  country,  and  the  duties  of 
those  who  aspire  only  to  be  good  citizens,  and  are 
inquiring  anxiously  what  in  that  humble  yet  respon- 
sible chai’sicter  they  have  to  do  — to  meet  thus,  and 
here  — not  as  politicians,  not  as  partisans,  not  as 
time-servers,  not  as  ofiice-seekers,  not  as  followers 
of  a multitude  because  it  is  a multitude,  not  as 
sectionalists,  but  as  sons  and  daughters  of  our  united 
and  inherited  America ; who  love  her,  filially  and 
fervently  for  herself ; our  own  — the  beautiful,  the 
endeared,  the  bounteous ; the  imperial  and  general 
Parent!  — and  whose  hearts’' desire  and  prayer  to 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


441 


God  is  only  to  know  how  we  shall  serve  her  best,  — 
this  is  a pleasure  and  a privilege  for  which  I shall  be 
very  long  and  very  deeply  in  your  debt. 

And  this  pleasure,  there  is  here  and  now  nothing 
to  alloy.  Differing  as  we  have  done,  some  of  us, 
through  half  our  lives ; differing  as  now  we  do,  and 
shall  hereafter  do,  on  means,  on  details,  on  causes  of 
the  evil,  on  men,  on  non-essentials  — non-essentials  I 
would  say  in  so  far  as  the  demands  of  these  most 
rugged  and  eventful  times  are  concerned  — I thmk 
that  on  the  question,  what  is  the  true  issue  before  us 
and  the  capital  danger  we  have  to  meet ; on  this,  and 
on  all  the  larger  ideas,  in  all  the  nobler  emotions 
which  ought  to  swell  the  heart  and  guide  the  votes 
of  true  men  to-day  — through  this  one  sharp  and 
dark  hour  we  shall  stand  together,  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der, though  we  have  never  done  so  before,  and  may 
never  do  so  again. 

I infer  this  from  the  language  of  your  invitation. 
The  welcome  with  which  you  have  met  me  allows 
me  to  expect  so  much.  The  place  we  meet  in  gives 
assurance  of  it. 

If  there  is  one  spot  of  New  England  earth  rather 
than  another,  on  whose  ear  that  strange  music  of 
discords  to  which  they  are  rallying  the  files  — a little 
scattered  and  a little  flinching,  thank  God ! — of 
their  Geographical  party  — must  fall  like  a flre-bell 
in  the  night,  it  is  here ; it  is  in  Middlesex  ; it  is  in 
Lowell ! 

If  this  attempt  at  combining  States  against  States 
for  the  possession  of  the  government  has  no  danger 
in  it  for  anybody,  well  and  good.  Let  all  then  sleep 
on,  and  take  their  rest.  If  it  has  danger  for  anybody. 


142 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


for  you,  Fellow-citizens  of  Lowell,  more  than  for  any 
of  New  England  or  as  much,  it  has  that  danger. 
Who  needs  the  Union,  if  you  do  not?  Who  should 
have  brain  and  heart  enough  to  comprehend  and 
employ  the  means  of  keeping  it,  if  not  you  ? Others 
may  be  Unionists  by  chance  ; by  fits  and  starts ; on 
the  lips ; Unionists  when  nothing  more  exciting,  or 
more  showy,  or  more  profitable,  casts  up.  You  are 
Unionists  by  profession ; Unionists  by  necessity ; 
Unionists  always.  Others  may  find  Vermont,  or 
hlassachu setts,  or  New  Hampshire,  or  Rhode  Island, 
large  enough  for  them.  You  need  the  whole  United 
Continent  over  which  the  flag  waves  to-day,  and  you 
need  it  governed,  within  the  limits  of  the  actual 
Constitution,  by  one  supreme  will.  To  secure  that 
vast  and  that  indispensable  market  at  home  ; to  com- 
mand in  the  least  degree  a steady,  uniform,  or  even 
occasional  protection  against  the  redundant  capital, 
matured  skill,  pauper  labor,  and  ebbing  and  falling 
prices  of  the  Old  World  at  peace;  to  enable  the 
looms  of  America  to  clothe  the  teeming  millions  of 
America,  — you  need  a regulation  of  commerce,  uni- 
form, one,  the  work  of  one  united  mind,  which  shall 
draw  along  our  illimitable  coast  of  sea  and  lake, 
between  the  universal  American  race  on  one  side, 
and  all  the  rest  of  mankind  on  the  other,  a line,  not 
of  seclusion,  not  of  prohibition,  but  a line  of  security, 
and  discrimination  — discrimination  between  the  raw 
material  at  least  and  the  competing  product  — a line 
of  social  and  industrial  boundary  behind  which  our 
infancy  may  grow  to  manhood ; our  weakness  to 
strength  ; our  “ ’prentice  hand  ” to  that  skill  which 
shall  hang  out  the  lamp  of  beauty  on  the  high  places 
of  our  wealth,  and  our  power,  and  our  liberty ! 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


443 


Yes,  this  you  need ; and  you  know  how,  and  where, 
you  can  have  it. 

How  perfectly  our  springing  and  yet  immature 
manufacturing  and  mechanical  interests  in  1788  dis- 
cerned this  need,  and  with  what  deep,  reasonable, 
passionate  enthusiasm  the}^  celebrated  the  adoption 
of  the  Constitution  which  held  out  the  promise  of 
meeting  it ! I know  very  well  that  all  good  men  ; all 
far-seeing  men ; all  large-brained  and  large-hearted 
men  were  glad  that  day.  I recall  that  grand  and 
exultant  exclamation  of  one  of  them : “ It  is  done  ; 
we  have  become  a nation.”  But  even  then  it  seemed 
to  some,  more  than  to  others,  the  dawn  of  a day  of 
good  things  to  come.  If  you  turn  to  that  procession 
and  that  pageant  of  industry,  in  Philadelphia,  on  the 
4th  of  July,  1788, — that  grand  and  affecting  dra- 
matic action  through  which,  on  that  magnificent  stage 
as  in  a theatre,  there  were  represented  the  sublime 
joy,  and  the  sublime  hopes  with  which  the  bosom  of 
Pennsylvania  was  throbbing,  — then  and  thus  I think 
you  seem  to  see,  that  while  the  Constitution  promised 
glory  and  happiness  to  all  our  America,  it  was  to 
the  labor  of  America  the  very  breath  of  life.  We 
hear  it  said  that  it  was  for  trade  — foreign  and 
domestic,  largely  — that  the  new  and  more  perfect 
union  was  formed,  and  that  is  true.  Very  fit  it  was 
that  in  that  gorgeous  day  of  national  emblems,  the 
silver  Delaware  should  have  shown  forth  prominently 
— decorative  and  festive  — to  announce  and  welcome 
from  all  her  mast-heads  the  rising  orb  of  American 
commerce.  Yet  was  there  one  piece  in  the  perform- 
ance opening  a still  wider  glimpse  of  its  immense 
utilities  and  touching  the  heart  with  a finer  emotion. 


444 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


That  large  “stage  borne  on  the  carriage  of  the 
Manufacturing  Society,  thirty  feet  in  length,  on 
which  carding  machines,  and  spinning  machines,  and 
weaving  machines  were  displaying  the  various  manu- 
facture of  cotton,  was  viewed,”  says  an  eye-witness, 
“ with  astonishment  and  delight  by  every  spectator.” 
“ On  that  stage  was  carried  the  emblem  of  the  future 
wealth  and  independence  of  our  country.”  In  that 
precious  form  of  industry  in  which  the  harvest  of 
Southern  suns  and  the  labor  of  Northern  hands  and 
brains  may  meet  to  produce  a fabric  for  all  nations  to 
put  on, — the  industry  of  reason,  and  of  the  people, 
— “ in  that,”  says  he,  “ is  a bond  of  union  more 
powerful  than  any  one  clause  of  the  Constitution.” 
In  the  motto  on  that  carriage,  “May  the  Union  gov- 
ernment protect  the  manufactures  of  America,”  read 
the  hopes  and  the  necessities  of  this  labor.  Such  still 
is  your  prayer ; such  your  right  ; as  with  the  fathers 
so  with  the  children  ! May  that  same  Pennsylvania 
which  so  celebrated  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution 
perpetuate  it  to-day ! Wheresoever  else  the  earth 
may  shake,  and  the  keepers  and  pillars  of  the  house 
may  tremble  and  bow  themselves,  let  the  keystone  of 
the  national  arch,  intrusted  to  hold  it  against  the  sky, 
stand  fast  in  its  place  of  strength  and  beauty  for  ever ! 

Pardon  me  if  I have  seemed  to  find  in  the  mere 
interests  of  Lowell  a reason  why,  if  there  is  a danger, 
you  should  be  the  first  to  discern  and  first  to  meet  it. 
I turn  from  the  interests  of  Lowell  to  the  memories  of 
Middlesex  ; and  I find  in  them  at  least  assurance  that 
if  there  is  a danger,  your  eye  will  see  it  and  your  ear 
catch  it  as  far  and  as  quick  as  the  old  Minute-men 
saw  the  midnight  signals  in  the  belfrys,  and  caught 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


445 


tlie  low  midnight  drum-beat.  Surely,  surely,  that 
immortal  boast  of  Webster  will  be  yours,  “ Where 
American  libertj^  raised  its  first  voice,  and  where  its 
youth  was  nurtured  and  sustained,  there  it  still  lives, 
in  the  strength  of  its  manhood  and  full  of  its  original 
spirit.  If  discord  and  disunion  shall  wound  it,  if 
party  strife  and  blind  ambition  shall  hawk  at  and 
tear  it,  if  folly  and  madness,  if  uneasiness  under 
salutary  and  necessary  restraint,  shall  succeed  in 
separating  it  from  the  Union  — by  which  alone  its 
existence  is  made  sure  — it  will  stand,  in  the  end,  by 
the  side  of  that  cradle  in  which  its  infancy  was 
rocked  ; it  will  stretch  forth  its  arm  with  whatever 
of  vigor  it  may  still  retain  over  the  friends  who 
gather  around  it ; and  it  will  fall  at  last,  if  fall  it 
must,  amidst  the  proudest  monuments  of  its  own 
glory,  and  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin.”  Yes,  it 
was  here,  that  the  American  people  began  to  be,  and 
the  American  nation  was  born  in  a day.  There,  on 
the  19th  of  April;  there,  on  the  ITth  of  June;  on 
that  narrow  green ; beyond  that  little  bridge  ; on 
those  heights  of  glory  ; there,  — even  as  the  cloud  of 
battle  parted  and  the  blood  of  your  fathers  was 
sinking  into  the  ground  — the  form  and  faces  of  the 
old  thirteen  colonies  passed  away,  and  the  young 
Republic  lifted  his  forehead  from  the  “ baptism  of 
fire ; ” the  old  provincial  flags  were  rolled  up  and 
disappeared  as  a scroll,  and  the  radiant  banner  by 
which  the  United  America  is  known,  and  shall  be,  for 
a thousand  years  of  history,  known  to  all  the  world 
as  one,  was  handed  down  from  the  sky.  Here  at 
least  shall  not  the  dismemberment  of  that  nation 
begin.  Here  at  least  the  first  star  shall  not  be  erased 
from  that  banner ! 


446 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


No,  Fellow-citizens  of  IMicldlesex.  They  per- 
suade you  that  there  is  no  danger  in  what  they  are 
doing  ; they  may  persuade  you  that  a combination  of 
sixteen  States  to  wrest  the  possession  of  the  govern- 
ment from  the  other  fifteen  is  all  right,  all  safe,  and 
all  necessary.  But  if  they  fail  in  this  ; if  they  fail  to 
show  that  whatever  they  wish  or  mean  to  do,  they 
are  not  subjecting  the  Union  of  America,  and  the 
peace  and  honor  of  America,  to  a trial  which  may  ex- 
ceed its  strength,  then  tell  them  they  had  better  try 
that  case  in  some  other  county.  Tell  them  that  while 
the  summit  of  that  monument  catches  the  rays  of  the 
rising  and  descending  sun,  and  the  returning  or  de- 
parting sailor  greets  it  from  his  mast-head,  it  shall 
stand  the  colossal  image  of  a ivliole  country ; and  the 
flag  that  floats  from  it  to-day  shall  float  there  while 
the  earth  bears  a plant,  or  the  sea  rolls  a wave ! 

I meet  you  for  these  reasons  with  pleasure.  But 
I said  and  feel  that  that  pleasure  is  attended  close 
by  pain.  Some  of  you  will  partake  of  that  with  me 
also.  All  will  comprehend  it.  I do  not  disguise  that 
I look  on  the  occasion  with  too  anxious  an  interest, 
with  too  many  fond  memories  of  the  past,  with  too  keen 
a sense  of  the  contrast  of  the  present  with  the  past, 
with  too  much  thought  of  the  possible  future,  for 
unmixed  pleasure  even  here.  I will  not  call  this 
presidential  election  in  advance  a peril  or  a crisis,  for 
that  might  be  to  beg  the  question,  but  I wdll  venture 
in  advance  to  say,  that  the  best  wish  a patriot  could 
make  for  his  countr}'  is  that  she  may  never  undergo 
such  another.  The  first  desire  of  my  heart,  at  least, 
is  that  I may  never  see  such  another.  To  this  de- 
sire, personal  considerations  do  not  at  all  contribute. 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


447 


I should  be  ashamed  of  myself  if  they  did,  although  I 
cannot  but  wonder  at  that  discriminating  injustice 
and  insolence  of  dictation  which  claims  freedom  of 
thought  and  purity  of  motive  for  itself,  and  allows 
them  to  others,  and  denies  them  to  me.  But  this  is 
nothing.  Is  there  no  one  here  who  shares  with  me 
the  wish,  that  his  country,  that  himself,  might  never 
see  another  such  a crisis  as  this?  Is  there  no  one 
here,  — are  there  not  hundreds  here,  — who,  recall- 
ing the  presidential  elections  the}^  have  assisted  in, 
and  contrasting  their  safe  and  their  noble  stimula- 
tions ; their  sublime  moments  ; their  admirable  in- 
fluences, as  a training  to  a closer  union,  and  a truer 
and  intenser  American  feeling  and  life,  with  this 
one ; does  not  confess  some  anxiety,  some  bewilder- 
ment, some  loathing,  some  fear?  Those  generous, 
animated,  fraternal  contendings  of  the  American 
people  for  a choice  of  the  successor  of  Washington ; 
conducted  in  the  name  and  under  the  control  of  two 
great  parties  ; running,  both  of  them,  through  and 
through  the  Union,  into  every  State  and  every  vici- 
nage, every  congressional  district,  and  every  school 
district,  and  every  parish ; and  binding  Texas  to 
Maine,  Georgia  to  New  Hampshire,  Missouri  to  Mas- 
sachusetts, by  a new,  artificial,  and  vehement  cohe- 
sion,— a tie,  not  mystic,  by  which  you  greeted, 
every  man  greeted,  a brother  and  an  ally,  “ idem  sen- 
tientem  de  repuhlica  ; ” everywhere  that  careful,  just, 
and  constitutional  recognition  on  every  party  banner ; 
by  every  party  creed  and  code  ; in  every  party  speech, 
and  song,  and  procession  of  torchlight, — the  recogni- 
tion of  an  equal  title  to  love,  regard,  honor,  equality, 
in  each  and  every  state  and  region ; that  studious 


448 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


and  that  admirable  exclusion  of  all  things  sectional ; 
all  things  wliich  supposed  the  existence  of  a conflict 
of  sections  ; all  opinions,  all  theories  of  policy,  all 
enterprises  of  philanthropy,  all  aims  of  all  sorts  in 
■which  his  geographical  and  social  position  could 
prevent  any  one  American  from  sharing  alike  ; those 
platforms,  broad  as  our  continent ; equal  as  our  Con- 
stitution ; comprehensive  as  our  liberty ; those  mighty 
minglings  of  minds  and  hearts,  in  which  Webster  could 
address  Virginians  in  the  Capitol  Square  at  Richmond, 
and  Berrien  and  Bell  and  Leigh  and  Johnson  could  feel 
and  heighten  the  inspiration  of  Faneuil  Hall  and  Bun- 
ker Hill,  — all  everywhere  at  home  ; — those  presiden- 
tial contests  which  left  our  Union  stronger,  our  mutual 
acquaintance  and  respect  closer  and  deeper,  our  coun- 
try a dearer  and  fairer  and  grander  ideal,  hastening 
forward  the  growth  of  our  nationality  almost  as  much 
as  a foreign  war,  without  its  blood,  its  crime,  and  its 
cost,  — is  there  no  one,  are  there  not  hundreds  here, 
who  recall  and  regret  them  ? Contrasted  with  them 
and  their  day,  does  not  this  one,  and  this  time,  seem 
more  a dream  than  a reality?  Can  we  avoid  the 
vain  wish  that  it  was  only  and  all  a dream?  Does 
this  attempt  to  weave  and  plait  the  two  North  wings 
of  the  old  national  parties  into  a single  Northern  one, 
and  cut  the  Southern  wing  off  altogether,  strike  you 
to  be  quite  as  far-sighted  and  safe  as  it  is  new  and 
bold?  In  the  temporary  and  local  success  which 
seemed  a little  while  ago  to  attend  it  here,  and 
which  led  certain  small  editors,  little  speakers  on 
low  stumps,  writers  of  bad  novels  and  forgotten 
poems,  preachers  of  Pantheism  and  revilers  of  Jef- 
ferson, and  excellent  gentlemen,  so  moral  and  re- 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


449 


ligioiis  that  they  could  not  rejoice  at  their  country’s 
victories  over  England, — led  these  people  to  sup- 
pose they  had  all  at  once  become  your  masters  and 
mine ; in  that  temporary  and  local  success  did  you 
see  nothing  but  rose  colors  and  the  dawn  of  the  Mil- 
lennium? To  combine  States  against  States,  in  such 
a system  as  ours,  has  it  been  generally  held  a very 
happy  device  towards  forming  a more  perfect  union 
and  insuring  domestic  tranquillity?  To  combine 
them  thus  against  each  other  geographically,  to  take 
the  whole  vast  range  of  the  free  States,  lying  to- 
gether, sixteen  out  of  thirty-one,  seventeen  millions 
out  of  five  or  six  and  twenty  millions,  — the  most 
populous,  the  strongest,  the  most  advancing,  — and 
form  them  in  battalion  against  the  fewer  numbers 
and  slower  growth,  and  waning  relative  power  on 
the  other  side  ; to  bring  this  sectional  majority  under 
party  drill  and  stimulus  of  pay  and  rations ; to  offer 
to  it  as  a party  the  government  of  onr  country,  its 
most  coveted  honors,  its  largest  salaries,  all  its  sweets 
of  patronage  and  place ; to  penetrate  and  fire  so 
mighty  and  so  compact  a mass  with  the  still  more 
delicious  idea  that  they  are  moving  for  human  rights 
and  the  equality  of  man ; to  call  out  their  clergy 
from  the  pulpit,  the  library,  the  bedside  of  the  dying, 
the  chair  of  the  anxious  inquirer,  the  hearth  of  the 
bereaved,  to  bless  such  a crusade  ; to  put  in  requisi- 
tion every  species  of  rhetoric  and  sophistry,  to  im- 
press on  the  general  mind  that  the  end  justifies  the 
means ; that  the  end  here  to  be  attained  is  to  give 
Kansas  to  freedom ; to  stanch  her  blood  and  put  out 
her  fires  ; and  then  to  execute  the  sublime  and  im- 
pressive dogma  that  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal ; 


450 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


and  that  such  a Geographical  party  is  a well-adapted 
means  to  that  end,  — does  this  strike  you  as  alto- 
gether in  the  spirit  of  Washington,  and  Franklin,  and 
the  Preamble  to  the  Constitution,  and  the  Farewell 
Address  ? Does  it  strike  you  that  if  carried  out  it  will 
prove  to  be  a mere  summer  excursion  to  Moscow? 
Will  there  be  no  bivouac  in  the  snow ; no  avenging 
winter  hanging  on  retreat?  No  Leipsic  ; no  Waterloo  ? 

Fellow-citizens,  if  the  formation  and  growth  of 
this  faction  of  Northern  States  against  the  South  has 
impressed  us  at  all  alike,  you  appreciate  why  I said 
that  I meet  you  with  pain.  It  was  the  pain  of  anx- 
iety ; the  pain  of  fear.  Relieved  as  I am  from  that 
in  a great  degree  by  the  late  decisive  demonstrations 
from  Pennsylvania  and  Indiana,  we  yet  feel  together 
that  we  have  a duty  to  perform  or  to  attempt  still. 
That  which  we  cannot  hinder  here,  we  may  at  least 
deplore  and  expose.  That  which  we  cannot  do  for 
ourselves.  New  Hampshire,  Connecticut,  the  great, 
calm,  central  mass  of  States  may  do  for  us.  Against 
that  which  locally  and  temporarily  is  too  strong  for 
our  strength  here,  we  may  at  least  protest. 

With  courtesy  then  ; with  justice  to  those  from 
whom  we  differ  ; in  the  fear  of  God  ; in  the  love  of 
our  whole  America ; in  all  singleness  of  heart ; ap- 
pealing from  the  new  men  to  the  old ; to  the  sober 
second  thought  of  Massachusetts  and  New  England ; 
to  their  judgment ; to  their  patriotism,  — after  some 
generations,  perhaps  some  days,  have  passed,  — let 
us  put  on  record  our  reasons  for  deliberate  and  inex- 
tinguishable opposition  to  this  Geographical  party. 

You  see.  Fellow-citizens,  already  what  I regard  as 
the  issue  we  have  to  try.  In  their  mode  of  stating 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


451 


that  issue,  I take  leave  totally  to  differ  from  some  of 
the  organs  of  this  movement  here.  The  question  to- 
day is  not  as  they  would  frame  it  and  force  it  on  us, 
whether  we  would  have  Kansas  free  soil  or  slave  soil, 
any  more  than  whether  we  worship  an  “ anti-slavery 
God  and  believe  in  an  anti-slavery  Bible.”  The 
question  is  this  : Shall  slavery  be  permitted,  through 
the  agency  of  extreme  Northern  or  extreme  Southern 
opinions,  to  combine  and  array  the  sixteen  States  in 
which  it  does  not  exist,  and  the  fifteen  States  in 
which  it  does  exist,  into  two  political  parties,  sepa- 
rated by  a physical  and  social  boundary,  for  the 
election  of  president,  for  the  constitnting  of  the  two 
houses  of  congress,  and  the  possession  of  the  govern- 
ment ? Much  trouble  it  has  caused  us  ; much  evil  it 
has  done.  It  is  the  one  stupendous  trial  and  peril  of 
our  national  life.  But  shall  it  bear  this,  the  deadliest 
fruit  of  all? 

I say.  Not  so  ; never  ; but  certainly  not  yet.  This 
is  the  issue. 

And  now  addressing  myself  to  this  issue,  the  first 
thing  I have  to  say  is,  such  a party  is  absolutely  useless 
for  every  one  of  its  own  objects  which  it  dares  avow. 
For  every  one  which  it  avows  it  is  useless.  Every 
one  of  them  it  is  certain  to  endanger  or  to  postpone. 

But  here  let  me  submit  a preliminary  thought  or 
two. 

In  trying  the  question  whether  the  exigencies  of 
the  times  demand  such  a tremendous  organization  as 
this,  or  whether  we  are  bound  to  oppose  it,  I hold  it 
to  be  time  worse  than  wasted  to  get  up  a disputation 
in  advance  as  to  what  party,  or  what  section  is  most 
to  blame  for  the  occurrences  of  the  last  two  years. 


452 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


This  is  all  well  enough  for  politicians.  To  you  and 
to  me  it  is  trifling  and  it  is  criminal.  If  a resort  to 
this  stupendous  innovation  is  necessary  and  is  safe  ; 
if  it  will  work  great,  certain,  and  needful  good,  and 
will  not  formidably  and  probably  endanger  the 
domestic  tranquillity  and  the  more  perfect  union  of 
the  States,  — form  it,  and  triumph  in  it.  If  such  a 
resort  is  unnecessary ; if  it  will  work  no  certain  and 
great  good  ; if  it  will  disturb  our  peace  and  endanger 
our  existence,  let  it  be  condemned  and  punished  as 
moral  treason,  and  there  an  end.  Try  it.  and  judge 
it  by  itself. 

What  is  it  to  you  or  me  ; what  is  it  to  the  vast, 
innocent,  and  quiet  body  of  our  countrymen.  North 
or  South,  whose  folly,  whose  violence,  whose  distrust, 
whose  fanaticism  for  slavery  or  against  slavery,  whose 
ambition  low  or  high,  is  responsible  for  the  past  or 
present  ? Leave  this  to  them  whose  trade  is  politics, 
whose  trade  is  agitation,  and  let  us  meet  the  practical 
measure  they  present  us,  and  pass  on  that.  I know 
very  well  there  are  faults  on  both  sides ; faults  South, 
faults  North,  faults  of  parties,  faults  of  administra- 
tion. We  should  not  have  voted  for  the  repeal  of 
the  Compromise.  We  would  have  voted,  when  that; 
thing  was  done  and  its  restoration  was  seen  to  be 
impossible,  to  secure  to  Kansas  the  opportunity,  un- 
invaded, unawed,  uninfluenced,  to  grow  to  the  meas- 
ure of  a State,  to  choose  her  own  institutions,  and 
then  come  to  join  the  “ Grand  Equality.”  As  she  is 
to-day,  at  rest,  at  peace,  — in  some  fair  measure  so,  — 
revived,  respiring,  so  ought  she  ever  to  have  been, 
if  freedom  and  slavery  were  to  be  allowed  to  meet 
breast  to  breast  upon  her  surface  at  all.  Herein  is 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


453 


fault.  Herein  is  wrong.  Beyond,  far  back  of  all 
this,  years  before  that  Compromise,  years  before  that 
repeal,  the  historian  of  sectional  antagonisms  might 
gather  up  more  matter  of  reciprocal  crimination. 
Either  region  might  draw  out  a specious  manifesto 
enough  on  which  to  appeal  to  the  reason  and  justice 
of  the  world  and  to  the  God  of  nations,  and  to  the 
God  of  battle  for  that  matter,  if  that  were  all. 

But  to  this  great  question,  thus  forced  on  us.  Shall 
the  States  of  the  North  be  organized  for  the  purpose 
of  possessing  the  government  upon  the  basis  of  this 
party,  what  are  all  these  things  to  the  purpose? 
Because  there  has  been  violence  and  blame,  are  you 
therefore  to  fly  on  a remedy  ten  thousand  times 
worse  than  the  disease?  We  should  like  to  see 
slavery  cease  from  the  earth  ; but  should  we  like  to 
see  black  regiments  from  the  West  Indies  landing  at 
Charleston  or  New  Orleans  to  help  on  emancipation  ? 
We  would  like  to  see  Kansas  grow  up  to  freedom  ; 
but  should  we  like  to  see  the  bayonets  that  stormed 
the  Redan  and  the  Malakoff  glittering  there  to  effect 
it  ? This  glorifying  him  who  does  his  own  work,  and 
this  denunciation  of  him  who  holds  a slave  ; this  sing- 
ing of  noisy  songs,  and  this  preaching  of  Sharpe’s 
rifle  sermons ; these  lingering  lamentations  about  the 
spread  of  the  cotton  plant,  about  the  annexing  of 
Louisiana  by  Jefferson,  and  of  Florida  by  John 
Quincy  Adams,  do  not  touch  the  question  before  the 
nation.  That  question  is  about  the  new  party.  That 
question  is  on  combining  the  North  against  the  South 
on  slavery  to  win  the  government.  Shall  that  party, 
shall  that  attempt  triumph,  or  shall  it  perish  under 
the  condemnation  of  your  patriotism  ? 


454 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


Is  that  needful  ? Is  that  just  ? Is  that  prudent  ? 
That  is  the  question  ; and  to  that  hold  up  its  orators, 
and  poets,  and  preachers ; and  let  the  sound  and 
calm  judgment  of  America  decide  it. 

Something  else  when  that  is  decided,  as  it  seems 
now  likely  to  be,  we  shall  have  to  do.  Some  changes 
of  administrative  politics  must  be  and  will  be  had. 
But  in  the  mean  time,  and  in  the  first  place,  the 
question  is.  Shall  your  Geographical  party  live  or 
die  ? 

I have  said,  then,  for  my  first  reason  of  opposition, 
that  for  any  and  every  one  of  the  objects  this  new 
party  dares  to  avow,  it  is  absolutely  useless.  It  is 
no  more  needed  for  any  object  it  dares  to  avow,  than 
thirty  thousand  of  Marshal  Pelissier’s  Zouaves  are 
needed  in  Kansas  to-day. 

And  on  this  question  of  necessity  is  not  the  burden 
of  proof  on  him  who  undertakes  to  introduce  into  our 
political  order  and  experience  so  tremendous  a novelty 
as  this  ? Is  not  the  presumption  in  the  first  instance 
altogether  against  getting  up  a Geographical  party 
on  slavery  for  possession  of  the  government  ? Con- 
sidering that  such  a thing,  if  not  necessarily  and  in- 
evitably poison,  is,  however,  extreme  medicine  at  the 
best ; that  it  has  been  down  to  this  hour  admitted  to 
be  and  proclaimed  to  be  the  one  great  peril  of  our 
system  by  all  who  have  loved  it  best  and  studied  it 
most  deeply ; that  every  first-class  intelligence  and 
character  in  our  history  of  whatever  type  of  politics, 
and  what  is  quite  as  important,  the  sound  and  sober 
general  mind  and  heart,  has  held  and  taught  this,  is 
it  too  much  to  say  that  he  whose  act  outrages  our 
oldest,  and  most  fixed,  and  most  implicit  habits  of 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


455 


tliouQ'ht  and  most  clierislied  traditions  on  this  sub- 
ject ; who  mocks  at  what  we  have  supposed  onr  most 
salutary  and  most  reasonable  fears  ; who  laughs  at  a 
danger  to  the  American  confederacy,  at  which  the 
firmness  of  Washington,  the  courage  of  Hamilton, 
and  the  hopeful  and  trusting  philanthropy  and  phi- 
losophy of  Jefferson,  confident  always  of  his  country- 
men, at  which  these  men  trembled,  — is  it  too  much 
to  tell  the  propounder  of  this  project  that  he  shall 
make  out  its  necessity,  or  he  shall  be  nonsuited 
on  his  own  case  ? I say  to  him,  then.  Pray  confine 
5’ourself  in  the  first  instance  to  the  point  of  necessity. 
Do  not  evade  that  question.  Don’t  mix  others  with 
it.  Tell  us  exactly  what  you  really  propose  to  do 
about  slavery,  without  phrases,  and  then  show  us 
that  if  it  ought  to  be  done  it  is  necessary  to  combine 
the  Northern  States  against  the  South  on  a presiden- 
tial election  in  order  to  do  it.  Speak  to  this.  Don’t 
tell  us  how  provoked  you  are,  or  how  provoked  the 
Rev.  Mr.  This,  or  the  Hon.  Mr.  That,  has  come  to 
be  against  the  South ; how  passionately  one  Southern 
member  spoke,  or  another  Southern  member  acted ; 
how  wicked  it  was  in  Washington  to  hold  slaves,  and 
what  a covenant  with  hell  a Constitution  is  which 
returns  the  fugitive  to  the  master.  Don’t  exasperate 
yourself  irrelevantly.  Don’t  mystify  or  trick  us  with 
figures  to  prove  that  the  seventeen  millions  of  people 
in  the  Northern  States  contribute  three  fourths  of  the 
whole  aggregate  of  $4,500,000,000  of  annual  indus- 
trial production.  This,  if  it  were  true,  or  were  not 
true,  might  beget  vanity,  and  the  lust  of  sectional 
dominion,  and  contempt ; but  it  is  nothing  at  all  to 
the  purpose.  Don’t  say  you  want  to  teach  the  South 


456 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


this  thing  or  that  thing.  Don’t  say  you  want  to 
avenge  on  a section  to-day  the  annexation  of  Louisi- 
ana or  Florida  or  Texas.  Don’t  keep  coming  down 
on  the  South  ; just  condescend  to  come  down  on  the 
question.  What  are  your  objects  precisely ; and  how 
comes  this  new  and  dangerous  combination  of  States 
necessary  to  accomplish  them  ? 

What,  then,  first,  are  the  objects  of  the  Geograph- 
ical party,  and  is  such  a party  necessary  for  such 
objects  ? I ask  now  for  its  measures.  What  would 
it  do  if  it  could? 

To  find  out  these  to  reasonable  perfection,  for  me, 
at  least,  has  not  been  easy.  It  is  not  easy  to  know 
where  to  look  for  the  authentic  evidence  of  them. 
The  Philadelphia  platform  and  Colonel  Fremont’s 
letter  of  acceptance  are  part  of  that  evidence.  They 
are  not  all  — they  are  not  the  most  important  part. 
You  must  go  elsewhere  for  it.  The  actual  creed  and 
the  real  objects  must  be  sought  in  the  tone  and  spirit 
of  their  electioneering;  in  the  topics  of  their  leaders  ; 
in  the  aggregate  of  the  impression  their  whole  appeal 
is  calculated  to  make  on  the  public  mind  and  the  col- 
lective feelings  of  the  North.  These  speak  the  aims, 
these  make  up  the  life,  these  accomplish  the  mission 
of  a part}^  By  these  together  judge  it. 

Much  meditating  on  this  evidence,  I arrive  at  two 
results.  I find  one  object  distinctly  propounded;  one 
of  great  interest  to  the  Northern  sentiment,  and  one 
which  you  and  I and  all  should  rejoice  to  see  consti- 
tutionally and  safely  accomplished  at  the  right  time 
and  in  the  right  way,  — and  that  is  the  accession  of 
Kansas  as  a free  State  to  the  Union.  This  is  one. 
Beyond,  behind  this,  more  or  less  dim,  more  or  less 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


457 


frowning,  more  or  less  glittering,  more  or  less  consti- 
tutional, there  looms  another  range  or  another  show 
of  objects,  swelling  and  subsiding  and  changing  as 
you  look,  — “ in  many  a frozen,  many  a fiery  Alp,”  — 
cloud-land,  to  dazzle  one  man’s  eye,  to  disappear 
altogether  before  the  gaze  of  another,  as  the  show- 
man pleases.  These  are  their  other  objects. 

Turn  first,  then,  to  that  one  single  practical  and 
specific  measure  which  they  present  to  the  North,  and 
on  which  they  boast  themselves  by  eminence  and  ex- 
cellence the  friends  of  Kansas,  — the  admission  of 
that  territory  as  a free  State. 

And  noAV  if  this  is  all,  will  any  sane  and  honest 
man,  uncommitted,  tell  you  that  there  is  a necessity 
for  this  tremendous  experiment  of  an  organization 
and  precipitation  of  North  on  South  to  achieve  it  ? 
Have  you,  has  one  of  you,  has  one  human  being 
north  of  the  line  of  geographical  separation,  a par- 
ticle of  doubt  that  if  Kansas  has  peace  under  the 
reign  of  law  for  two  years,  for  twelve  months,  the 
energies  of  liberty,  acting  through  unforced,  un- 
checked, and  normal  free-soil  immigration,  would  fill 
her  with  freedom,  and  the  institutions  of  freedom,  as 
the  Avaters  fill  the  sea?  What  more  than  such  peace 
under  such  rule  of  law  do  you  want  ? What  more 
does  Mr.  Speaker  Banks  think  you  want  ? Legisla- 
tion of  anybody?  No.  Interference  by  anybody? 
No.  Hear  him  : — 

“ NoAy  for  this  [the  repeal  of  the  Compromise]  we  have  a 
remedy.  It  is  not  that  we  shall  legislate  against  the  South  on 
the  subject  of  slavery.  It  is  not  that  we  shall  raise  the  question 
whether  in  future  territories  slavery  shall  be  permitted  or  not. 
We  lay  aside  all  these  questions,  and  stand  distinctly  and  sim- 
ply on  the  proposition  that  that  which  gave  peace  to  the  country 


438 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


in  1820,  that  which  consummated  the  peace  of  the  country  in 
18.50,  ought  to  be  made  good  by  the  government  of  the  United 
States,  and  with  the  consent  of  the  American  people.  [Applause.] 
That  is  all.  No  more,  no  less  — no  better,  no  worse.  That  is 
all  we  ask  — that  the  acts  of  1820  and  1850  shall  be  made  good, 
in  the  place  of  conflagration,  and  murder,  and  civil  war  for  the 
year  1856  — by  the  voice  of  the  American  people.  South,  let  me 
sa}',  as  w'ell  as  North.  [Applause.]  Now,  to  do  that  no  legis- 
lation is  required.  It  is  not  necessary  that  the  halls  of  congvess 
should  be  opened  again  to  agitation.  We  desire  the  election  of 
a man  to  the  presidency  of  the  United  States  of  simple  view's 
and  of  determined  will,  — a man  w'ho  will  exert  the  influence 
of  this  government  in  that  portion  of  the  territory  of  the  United 
States,  so  as.  to  allow  its  people  to  settle  the  question  for  them- 
selves there.” 

What  is  this  but  to  say,  Put  out  the  conflagration, 
stop  the  reign  of  violence,  give  peace,  law,  and  order 
to  rule,  and  Kansas  will  have  freedom,  if  she  does 
not  prefer  slavery,  as  certainly  she  wdll  not.  And 
such,  I take  it,  is  the  all  but  universal  judgment  of 
the  North. 

Well ; but  do  they  answer.  Oh,  very  true  ; but  we 
cannot  have  this  peace  unless  the  North  gets  possession 
of  the  government.  Mr.  Buchanan’s  administration 
will  not  insure  it.  Mr.  Fillmore’s  administration  will 
not  insure  it. 

I might  content  myself  with  replying  that  the  con- 
dition of  Kansas  at  this  hour  gives  this  extravagance 
to  the  winds.  I will  not  say  that  territory  to-day  is  as 
quiet  as  Middlesex  ; but  I will  say  that  before  the  next 
President  takes  his  seat  it  will  be  as  free  as  Middle- 
sex. It  has  a majority  for  freedom,  and  it  is  increas- 
ing. Of  a population  of  about  thirty  thousand,  some 
flve  thousand  only  are  from  the  slave  States. 

I will  not  leave  it  on  that  reply.  With  what  color 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


459 


of  justice,  I choose  to  add,  do  the  leaders  of  this 
party  assume  to  tell  you  that  they  alone  desire  to 
give  or  are  able  to  insure  Kansas  her  only  chance  to 
be  free  ? With  what  justice  do  they  tell  you  that 
the  Democratic  party,  or  the  Fillmore  party,  refuse 
to  give  her  peace,  and  all  the  practical  opportunities 
of  liberty  ? Do  they  suppose  that  we  have  not  read 
the  record  of  the  last  two  months  of  the  last  con- 
gress ? We,  whose  sons  and  brothers  are  on  that 
disturbed  and  sad  soil ; we,  who  deplore  the  repeal 
of  the  Compromise  quite  as  much  as  they  do ; we, 
who  should  see  with  exultation  and  thanksgiving  to 
God  the  peaceful  victories  of  freedom  in  that  fron- 
tier ; we,  who  hate  and  dread  the  gamblings  of 
politicians,  and  the  selfish  and  low  tactics  of  party, 
but  should  rejoice  unspeakably  to  see  the  statesman- 
ship of  our  country  securing  the  government  of  that 
territory  to  its  own  free  will,  — do  they  suppose  that 
we  did  not  read,  or  could  not  understand,  or  cannot 
remember  how  the  leaders  and  the  members  of  every 
party  in  congress  dealt  with  this  great  subject  ? 
Republicans  the  only  helpers  of  Kansas  to  freedom, 
indeed  ! How  did  they  propose  to  reach  the  object? 
By  making  some  twenty  five  thousand  people  into  a 
sovereign  State,  and  bringing  it,  just  as  it  was,  into 
the  Union  under  the  Topeka  constitution  ! Yes,  you 
would  have  made  them  a State  extempore.  You 
would  have  given  to  these  twenty-five  thousand 
people,  organized  as  absolutely  without  law  and 
against  law  as  if  two  thousand  should  get  together 
on  Boston  Common  and  make  a government,  the 
same  voice  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  which 
the  Constitution  gives  to  New  York,  to  Pennsyl- 


460 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


vania,  to  Virginia,  to  Massachusetts ; the  power  to 
turn  the  scale  and  decide  the  vote  on  a debate  of  war 
and  peace,  or  a treaty  of  boundary,  or  of  commerce, 
or  a nomination  to  the  highest  judicial  or  diplomatic 
office  in  the  Constitution. 

This  they  would  have  done,  — a measure  of  passion  ; 
an  act  for  which  the  file  affords  no  precedent ; revo- 
lutionary almost ; almost  a crime  in  the  name  of 
liberty. 

Defeated  in  this,  they  would  do  nothing.  They 
would  allow  nobody  else  to  do  any  thing.  They 
passed  Mr.  Dunn’s  bill  to  be  sure,  — the  first  one 
in  the  history  of  this  government  which  legislated 
human  beings  directly  into  a state  of  slavery  ; but 
as  they  engrafted  the  restoration  of  the  Missouri 
Compromise  into  it,  they  knew  it  could  not  become 
a law,  and  that  goes  for  nothing.  There  they  stuck  ; 
and  had  they  not  repeatedly  an  opportunity  to  unite 
in  putting  out  the  fires,  and  stanching  the  blood, 
and  hushing  the  shrieks  of  Kansas  ; in  giving  her  a 
chance  to  revive  and  respire  ; in  giving  her  a chance 
to  choose  herself  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  liberty 
and  live  ? Yes ; repeatedly.  Did  they  avail  them- 
selves of  it  ? No.  Did  they  allow  others  to  do  so  ? 
No.  No ! Did  not  Mr.  Toombs  present  a bill,  and 
did  not  the  Senate  pass  it  and  send  it  to  the  House  ? 
Did  not  this  bill  propose  an  early  admission  of 
Kansas,  — in  so  far  just  what  the  Republicans 
wanted  ? Did  it  not  annul  the  more  obnoxious  part 
of  the  obnoxious  laws  of  the  territorial  legislature  ? 
Did  it  not  provide  for  registration  of  voters,  com- 
missioners to  take  census  of  inhabitants,  and  an 
interval  of  ample  sufficiency  for  those  whom  vio- 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


461 


lence  had  expelled  to  return  and  assert  their  rights  ? 
Did  not  Mr.  Hale  of  New  Hampshire  say  of  this  : — 

“ I take  this  occasion  to  say  that  the  bill,  as  a whole,  does 
great  credit  to  the  magnanimity,  to  the  patriotism,  and  to  the 
sense  of  justice  of  the  honorable  Senator  who  introduced  it.  It 
is  a much  fairer  bill  than  I expected  from  that  latitude.  I say 
so  because  I am  always  willing  and  determined,  when  I have 
occasion  to  speak  any  thing,  to  do  ample  justice.  I think  the 

BILL  IS  ALMOST  UNEXCEPTIONABLE.” 

Did  the  Republicans  — when  they  found  that  the 
Missouri  Compromise  could  not  be  restored,  nor 
Kansas  be  admitted  instantly  under  the  Topeka 
constitution  — in  order  to  stanch  the  blood,  and  to 
silence  the  cry  of  the  territory,  the  crime  against 
which  they  assumed  to  prosecute  and  avenge  — give 
ground  an  inch?  Would  they  take  a single  step 
towards  temporary  truce  even,  or  a time  to  breathe  ? 
Not  one,  — Mr.  Clayton,  Mr.  Crittenden  in  the 
Senate,  and  Mr.  Haven  in  the  House,  held  up  suc- 
cessively the  olive-branch,  tempted  and  entreated 
them,  by  eloquence,  and  reason,  and  feeling,  to  do 
something,  if  they  could  not  do  all,  or  what  they 
wished,  to  close  the  feast  of  horrors  ! — but  not  a 
finger  would  they  lift.  Cold  and  motionless  as  the 
marble  columns  about  them,  — the  25,000  men  and 
the  Topeka  constitution  should  come  in  a State  — as 
they  knew  it  would  not  — or  murder,  arson,  and 
rapine  might  waste  Kansas,  and  electioneer  for  the 
Geographical  party. 

I do  not  say  they  intended  that  the  reign  of  terror 
should  continue  in  Kansas ; all  of  them  could  not 
have  so  intended ; I do  not  say  that  any  of  them  did. 
I say  that  if  it  had  continued,  a full  share  of  the 


462 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


responsibility  had  been  theirs.  I say  that  it  is  no 
thanks  to  them  that  it  has  ceased.  I say  that  it  does 
not  lie  in  their  months  to  tell  the  calm,  just,  and  rea- 
sonable men  of  the  North  that  they  are  the  only  party, 
and  a combination  of  States  against  States  the  only 
means,  of  giving  to  Kansas  the  freedom  we  all  desire 
for  her. 

Easy  it  were  in  my  judgment  to  demonstrate  or  af- 
ford the  highest  degree  of  probability  that  their 
triumph  would  defeat,  or  postpone,  or  impair  and 
profane  the  consummation  which  they  seek.  But  I 
am  confined  to  the  question  of  the  necessity  of  their 
measures,  for  the  attainment  of  our  ends. 

So  much  for  this  function  of  the  new  party,  the  ad- 
mission of  Kansas  as  a free  State.  To  this  end  it  is 
no  more  needed  than  sixteen  black  regiments  from 
the  Leeward  Islands. 

Beyond  this,  what  are  its  objects?  With  anxious 
and  curious  desire  to  comprehend  the  whole  of  this 
extraordinary  phenomenon,  I have  extreme  difficulty 
in  making  these  ulterior  objects  out.  Some  of  them 
are  unavowed,  I suppose ; some  of  them  are  avowed 
in  one  place  and  denied  in  another;  some  of  the 
speakers  have  one,  some  have  another.  If  you  tell 
them  their  aims  are  dangerous,  unconstitutional,  revo- 
lutionary, Mr.  Banks  shall  reply,  “Not  a bit  of  it ; 
we  don’t  mean  to  legislate  against  the  South  on 
slavery  at  all ; we  don’t  mean  to  say  that  future  ter- 
ritories shall  not  have  slavery  if  they  like  it,  to  their 
hearts’  content.  We  want  nothing  and  nobody  but 
a President  of  ‘ simple  views  and  determined  will,’ 
who  will  allow  the  ‘people  of  Kansas  to  settle  the 
question  for  themselves  there.’  ” If  thereupon  you 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


463 


answer,  Well,  if  this  is  all,  there  really  seems  to  he 
no  great  need  of  evoldng  such  a tremendous  spirit  as 
the  comhination  of  North  against  South  to  reach  it ; 
less  force,  less  fire,  less  steam,  less  wear  and  tear  of 
machinery,  would  do  the  business,  one  would  think ; 
up  rises  another,  more  fervid,  more  gloomy,  better 
informed,  or  not  so  cunning,  and  exclaims,  “ No,  that 
is  not  all ! that  is  hardly  the  beginning.  We  sing 
and  hear  a strain  of  far  higher  mood  than  that ; we 
have  the  tide  of  slavery  to  roll  back  ; the  annexation 
of  Louisiana  and  Texas  to  avenge  or  compensate ; 
we  too  would  taste  the  sweets  of  power,  and  we  will 
have  power ; it  is  a new  order  of  the  ages  we  bring 
on  ; our  place  of  worship  (such  is  Governor  Seward’s 
expression)  is  neither  in  this  mountain,  nor  yet  in 
Jerusalem;  our  mission  is  equality  and  freedom  to 
all  men.” 

To  seek,  through  all  this  Babel  of  contradictory 
and  irresponsible  declarations,  what  they  really  de- 
sign to  do,  were  vain  and  idle.  To  maintain  the 
necessity  of  organizing  a party  like  this,  to  accomplish 
no  mortal  can  tell  us  what,  seems  pretty  bold  dealing 
with  the  intelligence  of  the  country.  That  which  it 
is  impossible  to  state,  it  is  not  apparently  needful  to 
try  to  do.  If  there  is  no  perplexity  of  plot  to  be  un- 
ravelled, why  is  such  a divinity  invoked?  If  there 
is  one,  will  they  show  us  what  it  is  ? 

I must  not  forget,  in  this  search  for  their  objects, 
outside  of  Kansas,  that  they  have  been  much  in  the 
habit  of  sending  us  to  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence to  find  them.  Their  platform  does  so ; their 
orators  are  said  to  do  so.  If  I understand  Governor 
Seward,  in  his  first  speech  in  Detroit,  he  does  so. 


464 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


Reverend  teachers  of  Republicanism  do  so.  They 
are  the  party  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
and  not  a Geographical  party.  Here  are  two  of  their 
resolutions : — 

“ Resolved,  That  the  maintenance  of  the  principles  pro- 
mulgated in  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  embodied  in 
the  Federal  Constitution,  are  essential  to  the  preservation  of  our 
republican  institutions ; and  that  the  Federal  Constitution,  the 
rights  of  the  States,  and  the  union  of  the  States,  shall  be  pre- 
served. 

^'■Resolved,  That,  with  our  republican  fathers,  we  hold  it  to 
he  self-evident  truth  that  all  men  are  endowed  with  inalienable 
right  to  ‘ life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,’  and  that 
Ihe  primary  object  and  ulterior  design  of  our  Federal  Government 
were  to  secure  these  rights  to  all  persons  within  its  exclusive  ju- 
risdiction ; that,  as  our  republican  fathers,  when  they  had  abol- 
ished slavery  in  all  our  national  territory,  ordained  that  no  person 
should  be  deprived  of  ‘life,  liberty,  or  property,’  without  due 
process  of  law,  it  becomes  our  duty  to  maintain  this  provision 
of  the  Constitution  against  all  attempts  to  violate  it,  for  the 
purpose  of  establishing  slavery  in  the  territories  of  the  United 
States,  by  positive  legislation  prohibiting  its  existence  or  exten- 
sion therein;  that  we  deny  the  authority  of  Congress,  of  a 
territorial  legislature,  or  any  individual  or  association  of  individ- 
uals, to  give  legal  assistance  to  slavery  in  any  Territory  of  the 
United  States,  while  the  present  Constitution  shall  he  main- 
tained. ’ ’ 

And  yet  what  information  does  this  afford  about 
the  object  of  the  new  party?  How  do  we  know 
what  they  mean  to  do,  and  whether  it  ought  to  be 
done,  and  whether  a combination  of  free  States  to  do 
it  is  fit  and  is  necessary  any  the  more  for  this  ? It  is  a 
thing  so  extraordinary  for  a political  party  to  put  for- 
ward the  Declaration  of  Independence  as  its  platform, 
or  as  a prominent  and  distinguishing  part  of  its  plat- 
form, and  to  solicit  the  votes  of  a section  of  the  States 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


465 


of  this  Union  by  the  boast  that  it  claims  some  special 
and  characteristic  relation  to  that  immortal  act  and 
composition  ; that  it  means  to  put  it  to  some  use,  and 
derive  from  it  some  power,  or  some  rule  of  interpreta- 
tion, or  some  motive  to  governmental  action,  which 
are  new  and  peculiar  to  itself,  — that  we  pause  on 
it  with  wonder,  and  perplexity,  and  alarm. 

If  a newly  organized  political  party  should  an- 
noimce  that  its  principles  were  the  principles  of  the 
Bible,  and  its  spirit  and  aims  the  spirit  and  aims  of 
the  Bible  ; should  put  this  ostentatiously  in  its  plat- 
form, write  it  on  its  flags,  carry  it  about  by  torchlight, 
thunder  it  from  its  pulpits  and  from  the  stands  of 
its  mass-meeting  speakers,  lay  or  clerical ; should  you 
not  feel  some  small  or  some  considerable  confusion, 
perplexity,  misgiving,  mirth,  and  fear,  in  view  of  such 
demonstration?  If  you  did  not,  or  if  you  did,  think 
it  a poor,  arrogant,  impious,  and  hypocritical  method 
of  electioneering,  would  you  not  wish  to  know  with 
a trifle  more  of  precision  and  fulness  what  were  these 
principles,  and  that  spirit,  and  those  aims  of  the 
Bible  thus  suddenly  adopted  into  the  creed  of  a 
party?  If  they  told  you  they  meant  those  principles 
and  that  spirit  “promulgated  in  the  Bible”  and 
“ embodied  in  the  Constitution,”  should  you  feel  that 
you  knew  much  more  than  you  did  before  ? So  here. 
What  do  these  mean  by  this  adoption  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence  into  their  creed  ? What  are 
“ those  principles  promulgated  ” in  it,  and  '■'•embodied  in 
the  Constitution  ” ? The  Declaration  announces  all 
men  to  be  born  free  and  equal,  and  to  have  certain 
inalienable  rights,  among  which  is  the  right  to  liberty. 
The  Constitution  sends  back  the  fugitive  slave  to  his 

80 


466 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


master.  Is  this  a case  of  a principle  promulgated  in 
one,  and  embodied  in  the  other?  If  not,  how  does 
their  platform  deal  with  it  ? What  are  the  “ princi- 
ples so  embodied  ” ? In  what  article,  in  what  word, 
are  they  so?  Which  do  they  go  for,  the  “ promulga- 
tion,” or  the  “ embodiment  ” ? What  practical  legis- 
lation, or  administration,  are  they  supposed  to  prescribe 
or  warrant?  Nay,  come  a little  closer;  what  do 
they  intend  to  say  they  get  from  the  Declaration,  or 
do  by  means  of  the  Declaration,  more  than  anybody 
else  gets  from  it,  and  does  by  means  of  it?  Would 
they  venture  the  proposition  that  the  Federal  Gov- 
ernment derives  any  powers,  any  one  power,  from 
that  source  ? Certainly  not ; or  if  so,  it  is  the  most 
dangerous  and  most  revolutionary  heresy  ever  yet 
promulgated.  Would  they  say  that  they  call  in  the 
Declaration  to  interpret  the  language  of  the  Constitu- 
tion ? I suppose  not ; for,  that  the  meaning  of  those 
who  constructed  that  consummate  frame  of  govern- 
ment, and  weighed,  measured,  and  stamped  its  words 
of  gold,  and  drew,  or  sought  to  draw,  with  so  much 
precision  and  certainty,  the  delicate  line  which  parts 
the  powers  given  to  the  Union  from  those  retained  to 
the  States  or  the  people,  and  therein  ordained  that  all 
powers  not  delegated  to  the  United  States,  or  pro- 
hibited to  the  States,  are  reserved  respectively  to  the 
States  or  the  people,  — that  this  language,  in  this  in- 
strument of  1787,  can  be  interpreted^  enlarged  or 
narrowed,  darkened  or  illustrated  by  the  language  of 
that  other  instrument,  not  less  renowned,  penned  in 
1776,  in  a time  and  for  a purpose  so  different,  — that 
thrilling  appeal  to  the  reason  and  justice  of  nations, 
in  which  a people  assume  to  vindicate  upon  grounds 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


467 


of  natiu-al  right  their  claim  to  take  their  place  in  the 
great  equality  of  States,  and  then  announce  their 
subhme  decision  to  make  their  claim  good  by  revolu- 
tion and  battle, — composed  to  engage  the  sympathies 
of  mankind  for  the  new  nation,  and  to  lift  up  its  own 
spirit  to  the  demands  of  the  great  crisis,  — that  the 
latter  of  these  papers,  in  point  of  time,  is  to  be  inter- 
preted by  the  former  in  any  sense  of  which  any  jurist 
or  any  reader  of  his  mother-tongue  can  form  con- 
ception, is  a proposition  too  extravagant  to  be  imputed 
to  the  author  of  the  platform. 

Well,  then,  if  they  do  not  use  the  Declaration  as  a 
source  of  power,  nor  as  a help  to  construction,  what 
do  they  mean  to  do  with,  or  do  by  it  ? How  profiteth 
it  them  any  more  than  others?  than  us?  Why,  they 
would  say  they  were  going  to  execute  their  constitu- 
tional powers  “ in  the  spirit  of  the  Declaration.” 
That  is  it,  is  it?  They  are  to  take  the  constitutional 
powers  as  they  exist  — to  find  them  as  you  find 
them,  and  as  all  find  them,  by  just  and  legitimate  in- 
terpretation. But  the  difference  between  you  and 
them  is,  they  “ are  going  to  execute  them  in  the  spirit 
of  the  Declaration.”  Well,  now,  what  does  even  this 
mean?  What  sort  of  execution  is  this  to  insure? 
How  do  you  apply  your  rule  ? Nay,  what  is  the 
rule  ? What  is  the  spirit  of  the  Declaration  in  this 
behalf?  Is  it  any  thing  more  than  its  meaning?  It 
is  what  the  framers  of  it,  the  Congress  of  1776,  then 
meant,  by  their  language,  is  it  not?  Did  they  mean 
then  to  assert  that  slaves  had  an  inalienable  right  to 
liberty  ? Did  they  mean  to  make  any  assertion  at  all 
upon  the  subject  of  master  and  slave  ? Was  that  ap- 
plication of  this  generality  of  natural  right  in  their 


468 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


contemplation  in  any,  the  least  degree?  Were  they 
consciously  and  intentionally  conceding  and  proclaini- 
ing  that  it  was  a sin  to  hold  a slave  and  a duty  to 
emancipate  ? 

How  the  student  of  the  history  of  that  act  may 
answer  this  inquiry  is  not  now  to  the  purpose.  The 
question  is  not  now  on  the  actual  principles  of  the 
Declaration  as  its  framers  understood  and  limited  and 
applied  them.  It  is  on  the  meaning  of  the  framers 
of  the  Republican  platform.  What  is  their  “ spirit 
of  the  Declaration,”  and  how  do  they  mean  to  use  it ; 
and  what  do  they  mean  to  draw  from  it  in  executing 
the  Constitution  ? If  they  will  point  out  one  single 
object  they  can  or  design  to  accomplish  through  it, 
which  other  parties  have  not  accomplished  and  can- 
not accomplish,  by  administering  the  government  upon 
these  principles  of  equal  and  exact  justice  to  all  the 
States  and  all  the  sections,  in  the  purpose  of  promoting 
internal  tranquillity  and  a more  perfect  Union,  which 
have  heretofore  constituted  the  recognized  creed  of 
American  statesmanship,  we  can  then  judge  whether 
this  parade  of  that  instrument  and  that  act  in  their 
platform  has  any  meaning  at  all,  and  if  so  whether 
what  is  meant  is  needful  or  safe.  We  can  then  judge 
whether  they  have  used  a form  of  language  intended 
to  lead  the  passionate  and  unthinking  to  believe  they 
intended  something,  and  yet  to  leave  themselves  at 
liberty  to  protest,  when  examined  on  it,  that  they  in- 
tended nothing.  We  can  then  judge  whether  this 
language  of  their  creed  is  revolutionary  and  danger- 
ous, or  whether  it  merely  — 

“ Palters  with  us  in  a double  sense  ; 

That  keeps  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 

And  breaks  it  to  our  hope.” 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


469 


Holding  then,  Fellow-citizens,  the  clear  and  settled 
conviction  that  this  combination  of  Northern  States 
against  the  Soutli  is  totally  unnecessary  for  any  pur- 
pose, I record  my  protest  against  the  attempt  to  form 
it  and  give  it  power.  No  interest  of  freedom  re- 
quires or  will  be  helped  by  it.  No  aspects  of  slavery 
justify  it.  It  will  not  give  liberty  to  an  acre,  or  to  a 
man,  one  hour  sooner  than  they  will  have  it  without. 
It  will  not  shorten  or  lighten  the  rule  or  limit  the 
spread  of  slavery  in  the  least  degree. 

And  is  not  this  enough  to  deter  you  from  an  inno- 
vation so  vast,  an  experiment  so  untried,  an  agency 
of  influences  so  incapable  to  be  calculated  ? 

But  what  if,  more  than  novel  and  more  than  need- 
less, it  proves  only  an  enormous  evil  ? What  if  it 
proves,  of  all  the  fruits  that  slavery  has  borne  yet, 
the  deadliest  ? 

To  many  I know  the  bare  imagination  of  such  fear 
is  matter  of  mirth.  Seeing  farther  than  I can  see,  or 
more  sanguine,  or  more  bold,  for  them  it  seems  with- 
out terror ; or  promises  only  good,  or  a preponder- 
ance of  good,  or  to  be  a necessary  evil  and  a risk 
worth  taking  at  the  worst.  Let  me  dare  to  avow 
that  which  I assuredly  believe  and  deeply  feel.  To 
me,  to  many  thoughtful  men  whose  opinions  are  far 
more  important  than  mine,  there  is  occasion  for  the 
wisdom  of  fear. 

The  grounds  and  the  particulars  of  the  apprehen- 
sion with  which  such  men  may  regard  this  party, 
there  is  no  need  here  and  now  to  open  at  large. 

We  have  come  so  near  to  the  time  when  practical 
consequences  are  to  take  the  place  of  our  conjectures, 
— or  to  be  scattered  to  the  winds  for  ever  or  for  a 


470 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


space,  if  this  party  is  defeated,  — that  I may  forbear 
to  display  them  in  detail.  I compress  my  convic- 
tions upon  the  whole  subject  of  the  proposed  organi- 
zation in  a brief,  articulate  enumeration,  and  deliver 
them  to  your  judgment. 

They  are : — 

That  in  the  exact  sense  in  which  the  language  has 
been  used,  and  the  thing  been  held  out  for  warning 
in  the  Farewell  Address,  and  by  all  the  illustrious 
men  of  both  schools  of  our  policies,  of  Washington 
and  of  Jefferson,  whom  heretofore  the  American  peo- 
ple has  regarded  as  its  safest  and  most  sagacious 
councillors,  — but  on  a scale  more  gigantic  and 
swayed  by  passions  far  more  incapable  of  control  or 
measure  than  they  have  any  of  them  feared,  — it  is 
a G-eographical  party^  — confined  exclusively  in  fact 
and  in  the  nature  of  things  to  one  of  the  two  great 
regions  into  which  the  American  States  are  distrib- 
uted ; seeking  objects,  resting  on  principles,  culti- 
vating dispositions,  and  exerting  an  aggregate  of 
influence  and  impressions  calculated  to  unite  all  on 
one  side  of  the  line  which  parts  the  two  regions 
against  all  on  the  other,  upon  the  single  subject  on 
which,  without  the  utmost  exercise  of  forbearance, 
sense,  and  virtue,  they  cannot  live  at  peace  ; but  for 
which  they  could  not  fail  to  be  one  people  for  ever  ; 
by  reason  of  which  their  disruption  is  possible  at  all 
times. 

That  in  the  sense  of  the  language  heretofore  em- 
ployed in  American  politics  and  history  to  describe 
this  kind  of  thing  there  is  not  now  and  there  never 
has  been  another  Geographical  party  ; that  both  the 
other  two  which  now  divide  or  now  unite  the  people. 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


471 


— extending  through  every  State  North  and  South, 
professing  political  and  industrial  creeds,  seeking  ob- 
jects, breathing  a spirit  and  presenting  candidates 
which  every  region  may  own  alike,  exerting  each  an 
aggregate  of  influence  and  impression  calculated  to 
foster  an  American  feeling  and  not  a sectional  ani- 
mosity ; — that  both  these  — whatever  else  may  be 
alleged  against  them  — are  national  parties. 

That  the  Geographical  party,  in  its  nature  and 
spirit  and  immediate  object  of  taking  possession  of 
the  government,  is  founded  in  essential  injustice  to 
the  section  which  it  excludes;  that  in  ethics  and 
reason  these  States  are  partners,  and  stockholders, 
and  contractors  each  with  all,  — a partnership,  an 
incorporation  for  all  the  good  and  glory  and  progress 
to  which  national  life  may  aspire  ; that  therefore, 
although  the  will  of  the  majority  is  the  law  of  the 
mighty  concern,  yet  that  that  requires  a will  obedient 
to  justice  ; and  it  is  not  just  that  a section,  or  a class 
of  partners  should  associate  among  themselves  by 
that  organization  called  a party,  to  appropriate,  to 
the  practical  exclusion  of  the  rest,  the  government, 
and  all  the  honor,  profit,  and  power  which  belongs  to 
its  possession  and  administration,  for  an  indefinite 
period,  or  for  a presidential  term,  forasmuch  as  it 
violates  or  deserts  the  great  implied  agreement  of 
the  society  — implied  in  the  act  of  coming  into  the 
federal  tie  — that  a property,  a privilege,  a power,  a 
glory  so  large,  so  desirable,  as  the  possession  and 
administration  of  the  government,  shall  pass  about 
by  a just  and  equitable  rotation,  and  every  section 
shall  at  all  times  have  its  share : 

That  if  the  manner  in  Avhich  the  South  has  per- 


472 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


formed  its  duties  to  the  Union  and  to  the  Northern 
section  of  States  be  regarded  as  a whole,  from  the 
adoption  of  the  Constitution  to  this  day,  it  affords  no 
justification  of  the  attempt  to  take  possession  of  the 
government,  to  the  exclusion  of  that  section  of  States; 
that  her  federal  obligations,  as  such,  have  been  dis- 
charged as  the  general  fact ; that  she  has  set  no 
example  of  such  sectional  exclusion  as  this  ; that  her 
federal  life  and  activities  have  been  exerted  in  and 
through  national  parties,  and  as  a branch  or  wing 
thereof ; that  she  has  supplied  her  proportionate 
share  of  capacity  and  valor  to  the  service  of  the 
whole  country,  and  that  the  bad  language,  and  vio- 
lent acts,  and  treasonable  devices  of  her  bad  men 
create  no  case  for  the  injustice  here  meditated : 

That  the  repeal  of  the  Missouri  Compromise,  and 
the  disposition  of  the  South  to  form  Kansas  into  a 
slave  State,  while  we  condemn  and  deplore  the  for- 
mer, and  demand  that  the  free-will  of  all  its  people 
shall  be  permitted  to  disappoint  the  latter,  creating 
no  necessity  for  the  Geographical  party,  afford  no 
excuse  for  the  injustice  meditated : 

That  such  a party  is  dangerous  to  the  internal  tran- 
quillity and  general  welfare  of  the  United  States,  and 
that  it  tends  by  probable  and  natural  consequence 
less  or  more  remote  to  their  separation. 

Such  was  once,  was  ever,  until  to-day,  the  uni- 
versal judgment  of  wise  and  honest  men  and  true 
patriots  ; and  by  their  counsels  it  is  safe,  moral,  and 
respectable  to  abide. 

That  such  a party,  militant  or  triumphant,  elec- 
tioneering for  the  administration  or  in  possession  of 
it,  must  exert  influences  of  wide  and  various  evil. 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


473 


even  whether  they  do  or  do  not  reach  to  tlie  over- 
throw of  onr  system ; that  it  accustoms  the  people  of 
each  section  to  turn  from  contemplating  that  fair  and 
grand  ideal,  the  whole  America,  and  to  find  their 
country  in  one  of  its  fragments ; a revolution  of  the 
public  affections,  and  a substitution  of  a new  public 
life ; that  it  accustoms  them  to  exaggerate,  intensify, 
and  put  forward  into  every  thing  the  one  element  of 
discord  and  diversity,  and  to  neglect  the  cultivation 
of  the  less  energetic  elements  of  resemblance  and 
union ; that,  in  fixing  their  attention  on  a single  sub- 
ject, and  that  one  appealing  simply  to  passion  and 
emotion,  to  pride,  to  fear,  to  moral  sensibilities,  it 
exasperates  and  embitters  the  general  temper,  and 
sows  the  seeds  of  sentiments  which  we  did  not  in- 
herit, but  which  we  may  transmit,  — sentiments  of 
the  vehement  and  energetic  class  which  form  and 
unform  nations ; that  it  has  to  an  extraordinary  de- 
gree changed  the  tone  of  political  discussion  in  this 
its  own  section,  and  made  it  intolerant,  immoral,  abu- 
sive, and  insolent  to  those  who  differ,  to  an  extent  to 
which  our  party  disputes  have  before  afforded  no 
example ; that  it  tends  to  place  moderate  men  and 
national  men.  North  and  South,  in  a false  position, 
by  presenting  to  them  the  alternative  of  treason  to 
the  whole  or  treason  to  the  section,  — thus  putting 
moderate  counsels  to  shame,  and  destroying  the  in- 
fluence which  might  help  to  restore  the  good  temper 
and  generous  affection  of  the  parts  and  the  whole. 

That  while  it  is  organized  on  the  single  basis  of 
resistance  to  what  it  calls  the  slave  power,  it  miscon- 
ceives or  disregards  the  true  duties  of  the  patriotism, 
philanthropy,  and  Christianity  of  the  Free  States  in 


474 


SrEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


the  matter  of  slavery ; that  it  excites  hatred  of  the 
master,  but  no  prudent,  nor  reasonable,  nor  useful 
love  of  the  slave  ; that  to  hinder  the  mere  extension 
of  that  relation  over  more  area,  although  one  good 
thing,  is  not  the  onlj^  one  demanded ; that  even  that 
may -be  rendered  worse  than  useless  by  the  mode  of 
seeking  to  effect  it;  that  whatsoever  else  we  do  or 
attempt,  in  whatsoever  else  our  power  comes  short 
of  our  wishes  in  this  regard,  we  are  bound  to  know 
that  discords  and  animosity  on  this  subject  between 
North  and  South,  however  promoted,  do  but  re- 
tard the  training  for  freedom  and  postpone  the  day 
of  its  gradual  and  peaceful  attainment.  If  ye  so  hate 
the  master,  or  so  fear  him,  or  so  contend  with  him, 
that  ye  rivet  the  fetters  of  the  slave  or  lengthen  the 
term  of  his  slavery,  what  reward  have  ye  or  has  he  ? 

With  these  opinions,  Fellow-citizens,  I aim,  in  this 
election,  at  one  single  object ; I feel  but  one  single 
hope,  and  one  single  fear.  To  me,  all  of  you,  all 
men  who  aim  at  that  object  and  share  that  hope  and 
that  fear,  seem  allies,  brothers,  partners  of  a great 
toil,  a great  duty,  and  a common  fate.  For  the  hour, 
opinions  upon  other  things,  old  party  creeds  adapted 
for  quiet  times,  old  party  names  and  symbols  and 
squabbles  and  differences  about  details  of  administra- 
tion, seem  to  me  hushed,  suspended,  irrelevant,  tri- 
fling, — the  small  cares  of  a master  of  ceremonies  in 
the  palace  on  the  morning  of  the  revolution,  about 
red  heels,  small-clothes,  and  buckles  in  the  shoe, 
within  an  hour  of  the  final  storm.  I care  no  more 
now  whether  my  co-worker  is  a Democrat,  or  an 
American,  or  an  old  Whig,  a Northern  man  or  a Cal- 
ifornia man,  than  you  should  care  if  a fire  fell  on 


SrEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


475 


your  city  in  winter  and  was  devouring  your  work- 
shops and  streets  one  after  another,  and  houseless 
women  and  children  and  old  men  and  sick  were  seen 
hovering  on  the  side  of  the  river  in  the  snow,  whether 
he  who  passed  or  received  your  buckets  was  rocked 
in  his  cradle  on  this  side  of  the  sea  or  the  other ; 
whether  he  was  an  Arminian  or  Calvinist ; a ten 
hours’  labor  man  or  a twenty-four  hours’  labor  man. 
The  election  once  over,  we  are  our  several  selves 
again.  “If  we  get  well,”  the  sick  man  said,  when 
with  difficulty  reconciled  to  his  enemy,  botli  being 
supposed  dying,  “ if  we  get  well,  it  all  goes  for 
nothing.” 

Certainly  somewhat  there  is  in  the  position  of  all 
of  us  a little  trying,  — ties  of  years,  which  knit  some 
of  us  together,  are  broken ; cold  regards  are  turned 
on  us,  and  bitter  language  and  slander,  cruel  as  the 
grave,  is  ours. 

“ I cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 

That  were  most  precious  to  me.” 

You  have  decided.  Fellow  Whigs,  that  you  can 
best  contribute  to  the  grand  end  we  all  seek,  by  a 
vote  for  Mr.  Fillmore.  I,  a Whig  all  my  life,  a Whig 
in  all  things,  and,  as  regards  all  other  names,  a Whig 
to-day,  have  thought  I could  discharge  my  duty  most 
effectually  by  voting  for  Mr.  Buchanan  and  hlr. 
Breckenridge  ; and  I shall  do  it.  The  justice  I am 
but  too  happy  in  rendering  you,  will  you  deny  to  me  ? 
In  doing  this,  I neither  join  the  Democratic  party, 
nor  retract  any  opinion  on  the  details  of  its  policy, 
nor  acquit  it  of  its  share  of  blame  in  bringing  on  the 
agitations  of  the  hour.  But  there  are  traits,  there 
are  sentiments,  there  are  specialties  of  capacity  and 


476 


' SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


of  function,  that  make  a party  as  they  make  a man, 
which  fit  it  in  an  extraordinar}^  degree  for  special 
service  in  special  crises,  — to  meet  particular  forms 
of  danger  by  exactly  adapted  resistance  — to  fight 
fire  with  fire  — to  encounter  by  a sharper,  more 
energetic,  and  more  pronounced  antagonism  the  pre- 
cise type  of  evil  which  assails  the  State.  In  this  way 
every  great  party  successively  becomes  the  saviour 
of  the  Constitution.  There  was  never  an  election 
contest  that  in  denouncing  the  particulars  of  its 
policy  I did  not  admit  that  the  characteristic  of  the 
Democratic  party  was  this  : that  it  had  burned  ever 
with  that  great  master-passion  this  hour  demands  — 
a youthful,  vehement,  exultant,  and  progressive  na- 
tionality. Through  some  errors,  into  some  perils,  it 
has  been  led  by  it ; it  may  be  so  again ; Ave  may 
require  to  temper  and  restrain  it,  but  to-day  we  need 
it  all,  we  need  it  all!  — the  hopes — the  boasts  — 
the  pride  — the  universal  tolerance  — the  gay  and 
festive  defiance  of  foreign  dictation  — the  flag  — the 
music  — all  the  emotions  — all  the  traits  — all  the 
energies,  that  have  won  their  victories  of  war,  and 
their  miracles  of  national  advancement,  — the  coun- 
try needs  them  all  now  to  win  a victory  of  peace. 
That  done,  I will  pass  again,  happy  and  content,  into 
that  minority  of  conservatism  in  which  I have  passed 
my  life. 

To  some,  no  doubt,  the  purport  and  tone  of  much 
that  I have  said  may  seem  to  be  the  utterance  and 
the  spirit  of  fear.  Professors  among  their  classes, 
preachers  to  implicit  congregations,  the  men  and 
women  of  emotion  and  sentiment,  will  mock  at  such 
apprehensions.  I wish  them'  joy  of  their  discern- 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


477 


ment ; of  the  depth  of  their  readings  of  history  ; of 
the  soundness  of  their  nerves.  Let  me  excuse  myself 
in  the  words  of  an  English  statesman,  then  and  ever 
conspicuous  for  spirit  and  courage,  the  present  prime 
minister  of  England,  in  a crisis  of  England  far  less 
urgent  than  this.  “ Tell  me  not  that  this  is  the  lan- 
guage of  intimidation  ; tell  me  not  that  I am  appeal- 
ing to  the  fears  instead  of  to  the  reason  of  the  House. 
In  matters  of  such  high  concern,  which  involve  not 
personal  and  individual  considerations,  but  the  wel- 
fare of  one’s  country,  no  man  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  being  counselled  by  his  fears.  But  the  fears  to 
which  I appeal  are  the  fears  which  the  brave  may 
acknowledge,  and  the  wise  need  not  blush  to  own. 
The  fear  to  which  I appeal  is  that  early  and  provi- 
dent fear  which  Mr.  Burke  so  beautifully  describes 
as  being  the  mother  of  safety.  ‘ Early  and  provident 
fear,’  says  Mr.  Burke,  ‘ is  the  mother  of  safety,  for  in 
that  state  of  things  the  mind  is  firm  and  collected, 
and  the  judgment  unembarrassed ; but  when  fear 
and  the  thing  feared  come  on  together  and  press 
upon  us  at  once,  even  deliberation,  which  at  other 
times  saves  us,  becomes  our  ruin,  because  it  delays 
decision ; and  when  the  peril  is  instant,  decision 
should  be  instant  too.’  To  this  fear  I am  not 
ashamed  of  appealing  ; by  this  fear  legislators  and 
statesmen  ought  ever  to  be  ruled ; and  he  who  will 
not  listen  to  this  fear,  and  refuses  to  be  guided  by 
its  counsel,  may  go  and  break  his  lances  against 
windmills,  but  the  court  of  chancery  should  enjoin 
him  to  abstain  from  meddling  with  public  affairs.” 

They  taunt  you  with  being  “ Union-savers.”  I 
never  thought  that  a sarcasm  of  the  first  magnitude. 


478 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


but  as  men  can  but  do  their  best,  let  it  go  for  what 
they  think  it  worth.  I take  for  granted,  Fellow- 
citizens,  that  you,  that  all  of  us,  despise  cant  and 
hypocrisy  in  all  things,  — the  feigning  a fear  not  felt, 
the  cry  of  peril  not  believed  to  exist,  all  meanness 
and  all  wickedness  of  falsehood  in  our  dealings  with 
the  mind  of  the  people.  But  I take  it  for  granted, 
too,  that  we  are  above  the  cowardice  and  immorality 
of  suppressing  our  sense  of  a danger,  threatening 
precious  interests  and  possible  to  be  averted,  from 
the  dread  of  jokers  of  jokes  ; and  that  we  are  above 
the  folly  of  yielding  that  vast  advantage  which  deep 
convictions  give  to  earnest  men  in  the  dissensions  of 
the  Republic.  Think  what  a thing  it  were  to  win 
the  proud  and  sounding  name  in  reality  which  they 
bestow  in  derision  ! Suppose,  only  suppose  it  so  for 
tlie  argument,  that  there  is  danger,  overestimated 
perhaps  by  the  solicitude  of  filial  love,  but  real  or 
probable  and  less  or  more  remote, — suppose,  merely 
for  the  supposition,  that  Washington  had  reason  to 
leave  that  warning  against  this  kind  of  geographical 
combinations,  under  all  pretexts,  and  that  this  one 
comes  within  the  spirit  and  the  terms  of  that  warn- 
ing,— suppose  it  to  be  so  that  we  are  right;  that 
vehement  passions,  eager  philanthropy,  moral  emo- 
tions not  patient  nor  comprehensive  of  the  indispen- 
sable limitations  of  political  duty  ; that  anger,  pride, 
ambition,  the  lust  of  sectional  power,  the  jealousy  of 
sectional  aggression,  the  pursuit  even  of  ends  just 
and  desirable  by  means  disproportioned  and  needless 
and  exasperating  — the  excess  and  outbreak  of  vir- 
tues, by  which  more  surely  than  by  vices  a country 
may  be  undone,  — that  these  all  working  in  an  un- 


SPEECH  AT  LOWELL. 


479 

usual  conjuncture  of  affairs  and  state  of  public  tem- 
per, have  exposed  and  are  exposing  this  Union  to 
danger  less  or  more  remote,  — and  then  suppose  that 
by  some  word  seasonably  uttered,  some  vote  openly 
and  courageously  given,  some  sincere  conviction 
plainly  expressed,  we  could  do  something  to  earn 
the  reality  of  the  praise  which  they  give  us  in  jest,  — 
something  for  the  safety,  something  for  the  peace,  of 
this  holy  and  beautiful  house  of  our  fathers,  — some- 
thing, were  it  ever  so  little,  — would  not  this  be 
compensation  for  the  laughter  of  fools ; ay ! for 
alienated  friendships,  averted  faces,  and  the  serpent 
tooth  of  slander,  — a thing  worth  dying  for,  and  even 
worth  having  lived  for  ? 


480  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


AMERICAN  NATIONALITY. 


AJSf  ORATION  DELIVERED  IN  BOSTON  ON  THE  EIGHTY-SECOND 
ANNIVERSARY  OF  AMERICAN  INDEPENDENCE,  JULY  6,  1858. 


It  is  well  that  in  our  year,  so  busy,  so  secular,  so 
discordant,  there  comes  one  day  when  the  word  is, 
and  when  the  emotion  is,  “Our  country,  our  whole 
country,  and  nothing  but  our  country.”  It  is  well 
that  law,  our  only  sovereign  on  earth  ; duty,  not  less 
the  daughter  of  God,  not  less  within  her  sphere  su- 
preme ; custom,  not  old  alone,  but  honored  and  useful ; 
memories;  our  hearts,  — have  set  a time  in  which  — 
scythe,  loom,  and  anvil  stilled,  shops  shut,  wharves  si- 
lent, the  flag,  — our  flag  unrent,  — the  flag  of  our  glory 
and  commemoration,  waving  on  mast-head,  steeple,  and 
highland  — we  may  come  together  and  walk  hand  in 
hand,  thoughtful,  admiring,  through  these  galleries  of 
civil  greatness ; when  we  may  own  together  the  spell 
of  one  hour  of  our  history  upon  us  all ; when  faults 
may  be  forgotten,  kindnesses  revived,  virtues  remem- 
bered and  sketched  unblamed;  when  the  arrogance 
of  reform,  the  excesses  of  reform,  the  strifes  of  par- 
ties, the  rivalries  of  regions,  shall  give  place  to  a 
wider,  warmer,  and  juster  sentiment;  when,  turning 
from  the  corners  and  dark  places  of  offensiveness, 
if  such  the  candle  lighted  by  malignity,  or  envy,  or 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  481 


censoriousness,  or  truth,  has  revealed  anywhere,  — 
when,  turning  from  these,  we  may  go  up  together  to 
the  serene  and  secret  mountain-top,  and  there  pause, 
and  there  unite  in  the  reverent  exclamation  and  in 
the  exultant  prayer,  “ How  beautiful  at  last  are  thy 
tabernacles  ! What  people  at  last  is  lilie  unto  thee  ! 
Peace  be  within  thy  palaces,  and  joy  within  thy 
gates ! The  high  places  are  thine,  and  there  shalt 
thou  stand  proudly,  and  innocently,  and  securely.” 

Happy,  if  such  a day  shall  not  be  desecrated  by  our 
service  ! Happy,  if  for  us  that  descending  sun  shall 
look  out  on  a more  loving,  more  elevated,  more 
united  America ! These,  no  less,  no  narrower,  be 
the  aims  of  our  celebration.  These  always  were  the 
true  aims  of  this  celebration.  In  its  origin,  a recital 
or  defence  of  the  grounds  and  principles  of  the  Revo- 
lution, now  demanding  and  permitting  no  defence,  all 
taken  for  granted,  and  all  had  by  heart ; then  some- 
times wasted  in  a parade  of  vain-giory,  cheap  and 
vulgar,  sometimes  profaned  by  the  attack  and  repulse 
of  partisan  and  local  rhetoricians ; its  great  work,  its 
distinctive  character,  and  its  chief  lessons,  remain  and 
vindicate  themselves,  and  will  do  so  while  the  eye  of 
the  fighting  or  the  dying  shall  yet  read  on  the  stain- 
less, ample  folds  the  superscription  blazing  still  in 
light,  “ Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  for  ever,  one  and 
inseparable.” 

I have  wished,  therefore,  as  it  was  my  duty,  in 
doing  myself  the  honor  to  join  you  in  this  act,  to 
give  some  direction  to  your  thoughts  and  feelings, 
suited  at  once  to  the  nation’s  holiday,  and  seasonable 
and  useful  in  itself.  How  difficult  this  may  be,  I 
know.  To  try,  however,  to  try  to  do  any  thing,  is 

31 


432  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


easy,  and  it  is  American  also.  Your  candor  will 
make  it  doubly  easy,  and  to  your  candor  I commit 
myself. 

The  birthday  of  a nation,  old  or  young,  and  cer- 
tainly if  young,  is  a time  to  think  of  the  means  of 
keeping  alive  the  nation.  I do  not  mean  to  say, 
however,  because  I do  not  believe,  that  there  is  but 
one  way  to  this,  the  direct  and  the  didactic.  For  at 
last  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  day  which  we  would  cherish. 
It  is  our  great  annual  national  love-feast  which  we 
keep  ; and  if  we  rise  from  it  with  hearts  larger,  beat- 
ing fuller,  with  feeling  purer  and  warmer  for  America, 
what  signifies  it  how  frugally,  or  how  richly,  or  how 
it  was  spread ; or  whether  it  was  a strain  on  the 
organ,  the  trumpet  tones  of  the  Declaration,  the 
prayer  of  the  good  man,  the  sympathy  of  the  hour, 
or  what  it  was,  which  wrought  to  that  end  ? 

I do  not,  therefore,  say  that  such  an  anniversary  is 
not  a time  for  thanksgiving  to  God,  for  gratitude  to 
men,  the  living  and  the  dead,  for  tears  and  thoughts 
too  deep  for  tears,  for  eulogy,  for  exultation,  for  all 
the  memories  and  for  all  the  contrasts  which  soften 
and  lift  up  the  general  mind.  I do  not  say,  for  ex- 
ample, that  to  dwell  on  that  one  image  of  progress 
which  is  our  history ; that  image  so  grand,  so  daz- 
zling, so  constant ; that  stream  now  flowing  so  far 
and  swelling  into  so  immense  a flood,  but  which  burst 
out  a small,  choked,  uncertain  spring  from  the  ground 
at  first ; that  transition  from  the  Rock  at  Plymouth, 
from  the  unfortified  peninsula  at  Jamestown,  to  this 
America  which  lays  a hand  on  both  the  oceans,  — 
from  that  heroic  yet  feeble  folk  whose  allowance  to  a 
man  by  the  day  was  five  kernels  of  corn,  for  three 


ADDKESS  ON  THE  FOUETH  OF  JULY.  483 


months  no  corn,  or  a piece  of  fish,  or  a monldecl 
remainder  biscuit,  or  a limb  of  a wild  bird  ; to  whom 
a drought  in  spring  was  a fear  and  a judgment,  and 
a call  for  humiliation  before  God;  who  held  their 
breath  when  a flight  of  arrows  or  a war-cry  broke  the 
innocent  sleep  or  startled  the  brave  watching,  — from 
that  handful,  and  that  want,  to  these  millions,  whose 
area  is  a continent,  whose  harvests  might  load  the 
board  of  famishing  nations,  for  whom  a world  in  arms 
has  no  terror; — to  trace  the  long  series  of  causes 
which  connected  these  two  contrasted  conditions,  the 
Providences  which  ordained  and  guided  a growth  so 
stupendous ; the  dominant  race,  sober,  earnest,  con- 
structive, — changed,  but  not  degenerate  here ; the 
influx  of  other  races,  assimilating,  eloquent,  and 
brave  ; the  fusion  of  all  into  a new  one ; the  sweet 
stimulations  of  liberty ; the  removal  by  the  whole 
width  of  oceans  from  the  establishments  of  Europe, 
shaken,  tyrannical,  or  burdened  ; the  healthful  virgin 
world  ; the  universal  progress  of  reason  and  art,  — 
universal  as  civilization ; the  aspect  of  revolutions 
on  the  human  mind ; the  expansion  of  discovery  and 
trade ; the  developing  sentiment  of  independence  ; 
the  needful  baptism  of  wars ; the  brave  men,  the 
wise  men  ; the  Constitution,  the  Union  ; the  national 
life  and  the  feeling  of  union  which  have  grown  with 
our  growth  and  strengthened  with  our  strength,  — I 
do  not  say  that  meditations  such  as  these  might  not 
teach  or  deepen  the  lesson  of  the  day.  All  these 
things,  so  holy  and  beautiful,  all  things  American, 
may  afford  certainly  the  means  to  keep  America  alive. 
That  vast  panorama  unrolled  by  our  general  history, 
or  unrolling ; that  eulogy,  so  just,  so  fervent,  so 


484  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

splendid,  so  approved ; that  electric,  seasonable  mem- 
ory of  Washington ; that  purchase  and  that  dedica- 
tion of  the  dwelling  and  the  tomb,  the  work  of 
woman  and  of  the  orator  of  the  age : that  record  of 
his  generals,  that  visit  to  battle-fields ; that  reverent 
wiping  away  of  dust  from  great  urns ; that  specula- 
tion, that  dream  of  her  past,  present,  and  future  ; 
every  ship  builded  on  lake  or  ocean ; every  treaty 
concluded ; every  acre  of  territory  annexed ; every 
cannon  cast ; every  machine  invented  ; every  mile  of 
new  railroad  and  telegraph  undertaken ; every  dollar 
added  to  the  aggregate  of  national  or  individual 
wealth,  — these  all,  as  subjects  of  thought,  as  motives 
to  pride  and  care,  as  teachers  of  wisdom,  as  agencies 
for  probable  good,  may  work,  may  insure,  that  earthly 
immortality  of  love  and  glory  for  which  this  celebra- 
tion was  ordained. 

My  way,  however,  shall  be  less  ambitious  and  less 
indirect.  Think,  then,  for  a moment,  on  American 
NATIONALITY  itself ; the  outward  national  life  and 
the  inward  national  sentiment.  Think  on  this ; its 
nature,  and  some  of  its  conditions,  and  some  of  its 
ethics,  — I would  say,  too,  some  of  its  dangers,  but 
there  shall  be  no  expression  of  evil  omen  in  this  stage 
of  the  discourse;  and  to-day,  at  least,  the  word  is 
safety,  or  hope. 

To  know  the  nature  of  American  nationality,  ex- 
amine it  first  by  contrast,  and  then  examine  it  in 
itself. 

In  some  of  the  elemental  characteristics  of  political 
opinion,  the  American  people  are  one.  These  they 
can  no  more  renounce  for  substance  than  the  highest 
summit  of  the  highest  of  the  White  Hills,  than  the 


ADDKESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  485 


peak  of  the  Alleghanies,  than  the  Rocky  Mountains 
can  bo\7  and  cast  themselves  into  the  sea.  Tlxrough 
all  their  history,  from  the  dawn  of  the  colonial  life 
to  the  brightness  of  this  rising,  they  have  spoken 
them,  they  have  written  them,  they  have  acted  them, 
they  have  run  over  with  them.  In  all  stages,  in  all 
agonies,  through  all  report,  good  and  e^dl,  — some 
learning  from  the  golden  times  of  ancient  and  medi- 
Eeval  freedom,  Greece  and  Italy  and  Geneva,  from 
Aristotle,  from  Cicero  and  Bodinus,  and  Machiavel 
and  Calvin ; or  later,  from  Harrington  and  Sydney 
and  Rousseau  ; some  learning,  all  reinforcing  it  di- 
rectly from  nature  and  nature’s  God,  — all  have  held 
and  felt  that  every  man  was  equal  to  every  other 
man  ; that  every  man  had  a right  to  life,  liberty,  and 
the  pursuit  of  happiness,  and  a conscience  unfettered ; 
that  the  people  were  the  source  of  power,  and  the 
good  of  the  people  was  the  political  object  of  society 
itself.  Tins  creed,  so  grand,  so  broad,  — in  its  gen- 
eral and  duly  qualified  terms,  so  true,  — planted  the 
colonies,  led  them  through  the  desert  and  the  sea  of 
ante-revolutionary  life,  rallied  them  all  together  to 
resist  the  attacks  of  a king  and  a minister,  sharpened 
and  pointed  the  bayonets  of  all  their  battles,  burst 
forth  from  a million  lips,  beamed  in  a million  eyes, 
burned  in  a million  bosoms,  sounded  out  in  their 
revolutionary  eloquence  of  fire  and  in  the  Declara- 
tion, awoke  the  thunders  and  gleamed  in  the  light- 
ning of  the  deathless  words  of  Otis,  Henry,  and 
Adams,  was  graved  for  ever  on  the  general  mind  by 
the  pen  of  Jefferson  and  Paine,  survived  the  excite- 
ments of  war  and  the  necessities  of  order,  penetrated 
and  tinged  all  our  constitutional  composition  and  pol- 


486  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


icy,  and  all  our  party  organizations  and  nomenclature, 
and  stands  to-day,  radiant,  defiant,  jocund,  tiptoe,  on 
the  summits  of  our  greatness,  one  authoritative  and 
louder  proclamation  to  humanity  by  Freedom,  the 
guardian  and  the  avenger. 

But  in  some  traits  of  our  politics  we  are  not  one. 
In  some  traits  we  differ  from  one  another,  and  we 
change  from  ourselves.  You  may  say  these  are  sub- 
ordinate, executory,  instrumental  traits.  Let  us  not 
cavil  about  names,  but  find  the  essences  of  things. 
Our  object  is  to  know  the  nature  of  American  nation- 
ality, and  we  are  attempting  to  do  so,  first,  by  con- 
trasting it  with  its  antagonisms. 

There  are  two  great  existences,  then,  in  our  civil 
life,  which  have  this  in  common,  though  they  have 
nothing  else  in  common,  that  they  may  come  in  con- 
flict with  the  nationality  which  I describe ; one  of 
them  constant  in  its  operation,  constitutional,  health- 
ful, auxiliary,  even ; the  other  rarer,  illegitimate, 
abnormal,  terrible  ; one  of  them  a force  under  law  ; 
the  other  a violence  and  a phenomenon  above  law 
and  against  law. 

It  is  first  the  capital  peculiarity  of  our  system,  now 
a commonplace  in  our  politics,  that  the  affections 
Avhich  we  give  to  country,  we  give  to  a divided 
object,  the  States  in  which  we  live  and  the  Union  by 
which  we  are  enfolded.  We  serve  two  masters.  Our 
hearts  own  two  loves.  We  live  in  two  countries  at 
once,  and  are  commanded  to  be  capacious  of  both. 
How  easy  it  is  to  reconcile  these  duties  in  theory ; 
how  reciprocally,  more  than  compatible,  how  helpful 
and  independent  they  are  in  theory ; how  in  this 
respect  our  system’s  difference  makes  our  system’s 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULT. 


487 


peace,  and  from  these  blended  colors,  and  this  action 
and  counteraction,  how  marvellous  a beauty,  and  how 
grand  a harmony  we  draw  out,  you  all  know._  Prac- 
tically you  know,  too,  the  adjustment  has  not  been 
quite  so  simple.  How  the  Constitution  attempts  it  is 
plain  enough.  There  it  is ; litera  seripta  manet,  and 
heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  before  one  jot  or  one  tittle 
of  that  Scripture  shall  fail  of  fulfilment.  So  we  all 
say,  and  yet  how  men  have  divided  on  it.  How  they 
divided  in  the  great  convention  itself,  and  in  the  very 
presence  of  Washington.  How  the  people  divided  on 
it.  How  it  has  created  parties,  lost  and  given  power, 
bestowed  great  reputations  and  taken  them  away,  and 
colored  and  shaken  the  universal  course  of  our  public 
life  ! But  have  you  ever  considered  that  in  the  nature 
of  things  this  must  be  so  ? Have  you  ever  considered 
that  it  was  a federative  system  we  had  to  adopt,  and 
that  in  such  a system  a conflict  of  head  and  members  is 
in  some  form  and  to  some  extent  a result  of  course  ? 
There  the  States  were  when  we  became  a nation. 
There  they  have  been  for  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  — for  one  hundred  and  seventy  years.  Some 
power,  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands,  we  must  delegate 
to  the  new  government.  Of  some  thunder,  some 
insignia,  some  beams,  some  means  of  kindling  pride, 
winning  gratitude,  attracting  honor,  love,  obedience, 
friends,  all  men  knew  they  must  be  bereaved,  and 
they  were  so.  But  when  this  was  done,  there  were 
the  States  still.  In  the  scheme  of  every  statesman 
they  remained  a component  part,  unannihilated, 
indestructible.  In  the  scheme  of  the  Constitution, 
of  compromise  itself,  they  remained  a component 
part,  indestructible.  In  the  theories  of  all  publicists 


488  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


and  all  speculators  they  were  retained,  and  they  were 
valued  for  it,  to  hinder  and  to  disarm  that  central- 
ization which  had  been  found  to  be  the  dano’er  and 

O 

the  weakness  of  federal  liberty.  And  then  when  you 
bear  in  mind  that  the}'  are  sovereignties,  quasi,  but 
sovereignties  still ; that  one  of  the  most  dread  and 
transcendent  prerogatives  of  sovereignties,  the  pre- 
rogative to  take  life  and  liberty  for  crime,  is  theirs 
without  dispute  ; that  in  the  theories  of  some  schools 
they  may  claim  to  be  parties  to  the  great  compact, 
and  as  such  may,  and  that  any  of  them  may,  secede 
from  that  compact  when  by  their  corporate  judgment 
they  deem  it  to  be  broken  fundamentally  by  the 
others,  and  that  from  such  a judgment  there  is  no 
appeal  to  a common  peaceful  umpire  ; that  in  the 
theories  of  some  schools  they  may  call  out  their  young 
men  and  their  old  men  under  the  pains  of  death  to 
defy  the  sword  point  of  the  federal  arm  ; that  they 
can  pour  around  even  the  gallows  and  the  tomb  of 
him  who  died  for  treason  to  the  Union,  honor,  opin- 
ion, tears,  and  thus  sustain  the  last  untimely  hour, 
and  soothe  the  disembodied,  complaining  shade  ; that 
every  one,  by  name,  by  line  of  boundary,  by  jurisdic- 
tion, is  distinct  from  every  other,  and  every  one  from 
the  nation  ; that  within  their  inviolate  borders  lie  our 
farms,  our  homes,  our  meeting-houses,  our  graves  ; 
that  their  laws,  their  courts,  their  militia,  their 
police,  to  so  vast  an  extent  protect  our  persons  from 
violence,  and  our  houses  from  plunder  ; that  their 
heaven  ripens  our  harvests  ; their  schools  form  our 
children’s  mental  and  moral  nature  ; their  charities 
or  their  taxes  feed  our  poor ; their  hospitals  cure  or 
shelter  our  insane ; that  their  image,  their  opinions, 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  489 


their  literature,  their  morality  are  around  us  ever,  a 
presence,  a monument,  an  atmosphere  — when  you 
consider  this  you  feel  how  practical  and  how  inevita- 
ble is  that  antagonism  to  a single  national  life,  and  how 
true  it  is  that  we  “buy  all  our  blessings  at  a price.” 

But  there  is  another  antagonism  to  such  a national 
life,  less  constant,  less  legitimate,  less  compensated, 
more  terrible,  to  which  I must  refer,  — not  for  rep- 
robation, not  for  warning,  not  even  for  grief,  but 
that  we  may  know  by  contrast  nationality  itself,  — 
and  that  is,  the  element  of  sections.  This,  too,  is 
old ; older  than  the  States,  old  as  the  Colonies,  old 
as  the  churches  that  planted  them,  old  as  Jamestown, 
old  as  Plymouth.  A thousand  forms  disguise  and 
express  it,  and  in  all  of  them  it  is  hideous.  Candi- 
dum  seu  nigrum  hoc  tu  Romane  caveto.  Black  or 
white,  as  you  are  Americans,  dread  it,  shun  it ! 
Springing  from  many  causes  and  fed  by  many  stimu- 
lations ; springing  from  that  diversity  of  climate, 
business,  institutions,  accomplishment,  and  morality, 
which  comes  of  our  greatness,  and  compels  and  should 
constitute  our  order  and  our  agreement,  but  which 
only  makes  their  difficulty  and  their  merit ; from  that 
self-love  and  self-preference  which  are  their  own 
standard,  exclusive,  intolerant,  and  censorious  of 
what  is  wise  and  holy ; from  the  fear  of  ignorance, 
the  jealousy  of  ignorance,  the  narrowness  of  igno- 
rance ; from  incapacity  to  abstract,  combine,  and 
grasp  a complex  and  various  object,  and  thus  rise  to 
the  dignity  of  concession  and  forbearance  and  com- 
promise ; from  the  frame  of  our  civil  polity,  the 
necessities  of  our  public  life  and  the  nature  of  our 
ambition,  which  forces  all  men  not  great  men,  — the 


490  ADDEESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


minister  in  liis  parish,  the  politician  on  the  stump  on 
election  day,  the  editor  of  the  party  newspaper, — to 
take  his  rise  or  his  patronage  from  an  intense  local 
opinion,  and  therefore  to  do  his  best  to  create  or  rein- 
force it ; from  our  federative  government ; from  onr 
good  traits,  bad  traits,  and  foolish  traits  ; from  that 
vain  and  vulgar  hankering  for  European  reputation 
and  respect  for  Enropean  opinion,  which  forgets  that 
one  may  know  Aristophanes,  and  Geography,  and 
the  Cosmical  Unity  and  Telluric  influences,  and  the 
smaller  morals  of  life,  and  all  the  sounding  preten- 
sions of  philanthropy,  and  yet  not  know  America ; 
from  that  philosophy,  falsel}^  so  called,  which  boasts 
emptily  of  progress,  renounces  traditions,  denies  God 
and  worships  itself ; from  an  arrogant  and  flashy 
literature  which  mistakes  a new  phrase  for  a new 
thought,  and  old  nonsense  for  new  truth,  and  is  glad 
to  exchange  for  the  fame  of  drawing-rooms  and  par- 
lor windows,  and  the  side-lights  of  a car  in  motion, 
the  approval  of  time  and  the  world  ; from  philan- 
throjDy  which  is  short-sighted,  impatient  and  spas- 
modic, and  cannot  be  made  to  appreciate  that  its 
grandest  and  surest  agent,  in  His  eye  whose  lifetime 
is  Eternity,  and  whose  periods  are  ages,  is  a nation 
and  a sober  public  opinion,  and  a safe  and  silent 
advancement,  reforming  by  time ; from  that  spirit 
which  would  rule  or  ruin,  and  would  reign  in  hell 
rather  than  serve  in  heaven  ; springing  from  these 
causes  and  stimulated  thus,  there  is  an  element  of 
regions  antagonistic  to  nationality.  Always  I have 
said,  there  was  one  ; always  there  will  be.  It  lifted 
its  shriek  sometimes  even  above  the  silver  clarion 
tone  that  called  millions  to  unite  for  independence. 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  491 


It  resisted  the  nomination  of  Washington  to  com- 
mand our  armies ; made  his  new  levies  hate  one 
another ; assisted  the  cahallings  of  Gates  and  Con- 
way ; mocked  his  retreats,  and  threw  its  damp 
passing  cloud  for  a moment  over  his  exceeding 
glory ; opposed  the  adoption  of  any  constitution ; 
and  perverted  by  construction  and  denounced  as  a 
covenant  with  hell  the  actual  Constitution  when  it 
was  adopted ; brought  into  our  vocabulary  and  dis- 
cussions the  hateful  and  ill-omened  words  North  and 
South,  Atlantic  and  Western,  which  the  grave  warn- 
ings of  the  Farewell  Address  expose  and  rebuke ; 
transformed  the  floor  of  congress  into  a battle-field 
of  contending  local  policy  ; convened  its  conventions 
at  Abbeville  and  Hartford ; rent  asunder  conferences 
and  synods  ; turned  stated  assemblies  of  grave  clergy- 
men and  grave  laymen  into  shows  of  gladiators  or  of 
the  beasts  of  gladiators  ; checked  the  holy  effort  of 
missions,  and  set  back  the  shadow  on  the  dial-plate 
of  a certain  amelioration  and  ultimate  probable  eman- 
cipation, many  degrees.  Some  might  say  it  culmi- 
nated later  in  an  enterprise  even  more  daring  still ; 
but  others  might  deny  it.  The  ashes  upon  that  fire 
are  not  yet  cold,  and  we  will  not  tread  upon  them. 
But  all  will  unite  in  prayer  to  Almighty  God  that  we 
may  never  see,  nor  our  children,  nor  their  children 
to  the  thousandth  generation  may  ever  see  it  culmi- 
nate in  a Geographical  party,  banded  to  elect  a 
Geographical  President,  and  inaugurate  a Geograph- 
ical policy. 

“ Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  thou  art  welcome ! ” 

But  now,  by  the  side  of  this  and  all  antagonisms, 
higher  than  they,  stronger  than  they,  there  rises 


492  ADDEESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


colossal  the  fine  sweet  spirit  of  nationality,  the 
nationality  of  America ! See  there  the  pillar  of  fire 
which  God  has  kindled  and  lifted  and  moved  for  our 
hosts  and  our  ages.  Gaze  on  that,  worship  that, 
worsliip  the  highest  in  that.  Between  that  light  and 
our  eyes  a cloud  for  a time  may  seem  to  gather  ; 
chariots,  armed  men  on  foot,  the  troops  of  kings  may 
march  on  us,  and  our  fears  may  make  us  for  a 
moment  turn  from  it ; a sea  may  spread  before  us, 
and  waves  seem  to  hedge  us  up  ; dark  idolatries  may 
alienate  some  hearts  for  a season  from  that  worship  ; 
revolt,  rebellion,  may  break  out  in  the  camp,  and  the 
waters  of  our  springs  may  run  bitter  to  the  taste 
and  mock  it ; between  us  and  that  Canaan  a great 
river  may  seem  to  be  rolling ; but  beneath  that  high 
guidance  our  way  is  onward,  ever  onward  ; those 
waters  shall  part,  and  stand  on  either  hand  in  heaps  ; 
that  idolatry  shall  repent ; that  rebellion  shall  be 
crushed  ; that  stream  shall  be  sweetened  ; that  over- 
flowing river  shall  be  passed  on  foot  dry  shod,  in 
harvest  time  ; and  from  that  promised  land  of  flocks, 
fields,  tents,  mountains,  coasts  and  ships,  from  North 
and  South,  and  East  and  West,  there  shall  swell  one 
cry  yet,  of  victory,  peace,  and  thanksgiving ! 

But  we  were  seeking  the  nature  of  the  spirit  of  na- 
tionality, and  we  pass  in  this  inquiry  from  contrast  to 
analysis.  You  may  call  it,  subjectively  regarded,  a 
mode  of  contemplating  the  nation  in  its  essence,  and 
so  far  it  is  an  intellectual  conception,  and  you  may  call 
it  a feeling,  towards  the  nation  thus  contemplated,  and 
so  far  it  is  an  emotion.  In  the  intellectual  exercise 
it  contemplates  the  nation  as  it  is  one,  and  as  it  is 
distinguished  from  all  other  nations,  and  in  the  emo- 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  493 


tional  exercise  it  loves  it,  and  is  proud  of  it  as  thus 
it  is  contemplated.  This  you  may  call  its  ultimate 
analysis.  But  how  much  more  is  included  in  it ! 
How  much  flows  from  it ! How  cold  and  inadequate 
is  such  a description,  if  we  leave  it  there  ! Thirds  of 
it  first  as  a state  of  consciousness,  as  a spring  of  feel- 
ing, as  a motive  to  exertion,  as  blessing  your  country, 
and  as  reacting  on  you.  Think  of  it  as  it  Alls  your 
mind  and  quickens  your  heart,  and  as  it  Alls  the  mind 
and  quickens  the  heart  of  millions  around  you.  In- 
stantly, under  such  an  influence,  you  ascend  above 
the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  small  local  strife  ; you 
tread  upon  the  high  places  of  the  earth  and  of  his- 
tory ; 3’ou  think  and  feel  as  an  American  for  America ; 
her  power,  her  eminence,  her  consideration,  her  honor, 
are  yours  ; your  competitors,  like  hers,  are  kings ; 
your  home,  like  hers,  is  the  world  ; your  path,  like 
hers,  is  on  the  highway  of  empires  ; our  charge,  her 
charge,  is  of  generations  and  ages  ; your  record,  her 
record,  is  of  treaties,  battles,  voyages,  beneath  all  the 
constellations  ; her  image,  one,  immortal,  golden,  rises 
on  yoiir  eye  as  our  western  star  at  evening  rises  on 
the  traveller  from  his  home ; no  lowering  clond,  no 
angry  river,  no  lingering  spring,  no  broken  crevasse, 
no  inundated  city  or  plantation,  no  tracts  of  sand, 
arid  and  burning,  on  that  surface,  but  all  blended 
and  softened  into  one  beam  of  kindred  rays,  the 
image,  harbinger,  and  promise  of  love,  hope,  and  a 
brighter  day ! 

Think  of  it  next,  as  an  active  virtue.  Is  not  all 
history  a recital  of  the  achievements  of  nationality, 
and  an  exponent  of  its  historical  and  imperial  nature  ? 
Even  under  systems  far  less  perfect,  and  influences 


494  ADDKESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


far  less  auspicious  tlian.  ours,  has  it  not  lifted  itself 
up  for  a time  above  all  things  meaner,  vindicating 
itself  by  action,  by  the  sublimity  of  a brave  daring, 
successful  or  unsuccessful,  by  the  sublimity  of  a 
working  hope  ? How  loose,  for  example,  and  how 
perfidious,  was  that  union  of  the  States  of  Greece  in 
all  times  ! How  distinct  were  the  nations  of  Attica, 
of  Laconia,  of  Thessaly,  of  Boeotia,  and  how  utterly 
insufficient  the  oracle,  the  Amphictyonic  Assembly, 
the  games,  the  great  first  epic,  to  restrain  Athens 
and  Sparta  and  Thebes  from  contending,  by ' diplo- 
macy, by  fraud,  by  battle,  for  the  mastery  ! And 
yet  even  in  the  historical  age,  when  the  storm  of 
Eastern  invasion  swept  that  blue  sea,  and  those 
laughing  islands,  and  iron-bound  coast,  over,  above, 
grander  and  more  useful  than  the  fear  and  policy 
which  counselled  temporary  union,  — were  there  not 
some,  were  there  not  many,  on  whose  perturbed  and 
towering  motives  came  the  thought  of  that  great, 
common,  Greek  name ; that  race,  kindred  at  last, 
though  policy,  though  mines  of  marble,  though  ages 
had  parted  them, — that  golden,  ancient,  polished 
speech,  that  inherited  ancestral  glory,  that  national 
Olympus,  that  inviolated,  sterile,  and  separate  earth, 
that  fame  of  camps,  that  fire  of  camps  which  put  out 
the  ancient  life  of  the  Troy  of  Asia ; and  was  it  not 
such  memories  as  these  that  burn  and  revel  in  the 
pages  of  Herodotus  ? Did  not  Sparta  and  Athens 
hate  one  another  and  fight  one  another  habitually, 
and  yet  when  those  Lacedaemonian  levies  gazed  so 
steadfastly  on  the  faces  of  the  fallen  at  Marathon, 
did  they  not  give  Greek  tears  to  Athens  and  Greek 
curses  to  Persia,  and  in  the  hour  of  Platsea  did  they 
not  stand  together  against  the  barbarian? 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  EOURTH  OF  JULY.  495 


"What  else  formed  the  secret  of  the  brief  spell  of 
Rienzi’s  power,  and  burned  and  sparkled  in  the 
poetry  and  rhetoric  of  his  friend  Petrarch,  and 
soothed  the  dark  hour  of  the  grander  soul  of  Machi- 
avel,  loathing  that  Italy,  and  recalling  that  other 
day  when  “ eight  hundred  thousand  men  sprang  to 
arms  at  the  rumor  of  a Gallic  invasion  ” ? 

Is  not  Prussia  afraid  of  Austria,  and  Saxony  of 
Bavaria,  and  Frankfort  jealous  of  Dresden,  and  so 
through  the  tAventy-seven  or  eight  or  thirty  States, 
great  and  small ; and  yet  the  dear,  common  father- 
land,  the  old  German  tongue,  the  legend  of  Hermann, 
the  native  and  titular  Rhine  flowing  rapid,  deep,  and 
majestic,  like  the  life  of  a hero  of  antiquity,  — do  not 
these  spectacles  and  these  traditions  sometimes  wake 
the  nationality  of  Germany  to  action,  as  well  as  to 
life  and  hope  ? 

But  if  you  would  contemplate  nationality  as  an 
active  virtue,  look  around  you.  Is  not  our  own  his- 
tory one  witness  and  one  record  of  what  it  can  do  ? 
This  day  and  all  which  it  stands  for,  — did  it  not 
give  us  these  ? This  glory  of  the  fields  of  that  war, 
this  eloquence  of  that  revolution,  this  wide  one  sheet 
of  flame  which  wrapped  tyrant  and  tyranny  and 
swept  all  that  escaped  from  it  away,  for  ever  and 
for  eyer ; the  courage  to  fight,  to  retreat,  to  rally,  to 
advance,  to  guard. the  young  flag  by  the  young  arm 
and  the  young  heart’s  blood,  to  hold  up  and  hold  on 
till  the  magnificent  consummation  crowned  the  work, 
— were  not  all  these  imparted  as  inspired  by  this 
imperial  sentiment?  Has  it  not  here  begun  the 
master-work  of  man,  the  creation  of  a national  life? 
Did  it  not  call  out  that  prodigious  development  of 


496  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


wisdom,  the  wisdom  of  constructiveness  which  illus- 
trated the  years  after  the  war,  and  the  framing  and 
adopting  of  the  Constitution?  Has  it  not,  in  the 
general,  contributed  to  the  administering  of  that 
government  wisely  and  well  since  ? Look  at  it ! It 
has  kindled  us  to  no  aims  of  conquest.  It  has  in- 
volved us  in  no  entangling  alliances.  It  has  kept 
our  neutrality  dignified  and  just.  The  victories  of 
peace  have  been  our  prized  victories.  But  the  larger 
and  truer  grandeur  of  the  nations,  for  which  they  are 
created  and  for  which  they  must,  one  day,  before  some 
tribunal  give  account,  what  a measure  of  these  it 
has  enabled  us  already  to  fulfil ! It  has  lifted  us  to 
the  throne,  and  has  set  on  our  brow  the  name  of  the 
great  Republic.  It  has  taught  us  to  demand  nothing 
wrong,  and  to  submit  to  nothing  wrong ; it  has  made 
our  diplomacy  sagacious,  wary,  and  accomplished  ; it 
has  opened  the  iron  gate  of  the  mountain,  and  planted 
our  ensign  on  the  great,  tranquil  sea ; it  has  made 
the  desert  to  bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose ; it  has 
quickened  to  life  the  giant  brood  of  useful  arts ; it 
has  whitened  lake  and  ocean  with  the  sails  of  a dar- 
ing, new,  and  lawful  trade  ; it  has  extended  to  exiles, 
flying  as  clouds,  the  asylum  of  our  better  liberty  ; it 
has  kept  us  at  rest  within  all  our  borders  ; it  has  re- 
pressed without  blood  the  intemperance  of  local  in- 
subordination ; it  has  scattered  the  seeds  of  liberty, 
under  law  and  under  order,  broadcast ; it  has  seen 
and  helped  American  feeling  to  swell  into  a fuller 
flood ; from  many  a field  and  many  a deck,  though  it 
seeks  not  war,  makes  not  war,  and  fears  not  war, 
it  has  borne  the  radiant  flag  all  unstained ; it  has 
opened  our  age  of  lettered  glory  ; it  has  opened  and 
honored  the  age  of  the  industry  of  the  people  1 


ADDKESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


497 


"We  have  done  with  the  nature  of  American  nation- 
ality, with  its  contrasts,  analysis,  and  fruits.  I have 
less  pleasure  to  remind  you  that  it  has  conditions 
also,  and  ethics.  And  what  are  some  of  these  ? 
This  is  our  next  consideration. 

And  the  first  of  these  is  that  this  national  existence 
is,  to  an  extraordinary  degree,  not  a growth,  but  a 
production ; that  it  has  origin  in  the  will  and  the 
reason,  and  that  the  will  and  the  reason  must  keep  it 
alive,  or  it  can  bear  no  life.  I do  not  forget  that  a 
power  above  man’s  power,  a wisdom  above  man’s  wis- 
dom, a reason  above  man’s  reason,  may  be  traced  with- 
out the  presumptuousness  of  fanaticism  in  the  fortunes 
of  America.  I do  not  forget  that  God  has  been  in  our 
history.  Beyond  that  dazzling  progress  of  art,  society, 
thought,  which  is  of  His  ordaining,  although  it  may 
seem  to  a false  philosophy  a fatal  and  inevitable  flow 
under  law,  — beyond  this  I do  not  forget  that  there 
have  been,  and  there  may  be  again,  interpositions, 
providential,  exceptional,  and  direct,  of  that  Supreme 
Agency  without  which  no  sparrow  falleth.  That  con- 
dition of  mind  and  of  opinion  in  Europe,  and  more  than 
anywhere  else,  in  England,  which  marked  the  period 
of  emigration,  and  bore  flower,  fruit,  and  seed  after 
its  kind  in  the  new  world  ; that  conflict  and  upheaval 
and  fermenting  in  the  age  of  Charles  the  First,  and 
the  Long  Parliament,  and  Cromwell,  and  Milton,  — 
violated  nature  asserting  herself ; that  disappearance 
of  the  old  races  here,  wasting  so  mysteriously  and  so 
seasonably,  — that  drear  death  giving  place  as  in 
nature  to  a better  life  ; that  long  colonial  growth  in 
shade  and  storm  and  neglect,  sheltered  imperfectly 
by  our  relations  to  the  mother  country,  and  not  yet 

32 


498  ADDEESS  ON  THE  EOUETH  OF  JULY. 


exposed  to  the  tempest  and  lightning  of  the  high 
places  of  political  independence  ; burdened  and  poor, 
but  3’et  evolving,  germinant,  prophetic ; that  insane 
common  attack  of  one  tyranny  on  so  many  charters ; 
that  succession  of  incompetent  English  commanders 
and  English  tactics  against  us  in  the  war ; that  one 
soul  breathed  in  a moment  into  a continent;  the 
Declaration  so  timely,  and  so  full  of  tone  ; the  name, 
the  services,  the  influence  of  Washington,  — these 
are  “ parts  of  His  ways,”  and  we  may  understand  and 
adore  them. 

I do  not  forget  either  that  in  the  great  first  step 
we  had  to  take  — that  difficulty  so  stupendous,  of 
beginning  to  mould  the  colonies  into  a nation,  to 
overcome  the  prejudices  of  habit  and  ignorance,  the 
petty  cavils  of  the  petty,  the  envy,  the  jealousy,  the 
ambition,  the  fears  of  great  men  and  little  men  ; to 
take  away  partition  walls,  roll  away  provincial  flags 
and  hush  provincial  drums,  and  give  to  the  young 
Republic  E Pluribus  TJniim^  to  set  out  onward  and 
upward  on  her  Zodiac  path,  — I do  not  forget  that  in 
this,  too,  there  were  helps  of  circumstances  for  which 
no  philosophy  and  no  pride  can  make  us  unthankful. 

Take  one.  Have  jmu  ever  considered,  speculating 
on  the  mysteries  of  our  national  being,  how  providen- 
tially the  colonial  life  itself,  in  one  respect,  qualified 
for  Union,  and  how  providentially  it  came  to  pass 
that  independence  and  nationality  were  born  in  one 
day  ? Suppose  that,  from  the  times  when  they  were 
planted  respectively,  these  colonies  had  been  inde- 
pendent of  one  another,  and  of  every  one,  — suppose 
this  had  been  so  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  for 
one  hundred  and  seventy  years ; that  in  the  eye  of 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  499 


public  law  they  had  through  all  that  time  ranked 
with  England,  with  France ; that  through  all  that 
time  the}^  had  made  war,  concluded  peace,  negotiated 
treaties  of  commerce  and  of  alliance,  received  and 
sent  ministers,  coined  money,  superintended  trade, 
“ done  all  other  things  which  independent  States  of 
right  may  do  ; ” and  then  that  a single  foreign  power 
had  sought  to  reduce  them.  I do  not  say  that  that 
power  would  have  reduced  them.  I do  not  say  that 
necessity,  that  prudence,  which  is  civil  necessity, 
would  not  have  taught  them  to  assist  one  another,' 
and  that  in  one  sense,  and  that  a just  one,  they  would 
have  fought  and  triumphed  together.  But  when  that 
victory  was  won  and  the  cloud  rolled  off  seaward, 
would  these  victors  have  flown  quite  so  easily  into  a 
common  embrace  and  become  a single  people  ? This 
long  antecedent  several  independence  ; this  long 
antecedent  national  life,  — would  it  not  have  indu- 
rated them  and  separated  them?  These  old  high 
actions  and  high  passions  flowing  diverse ; these 
opposed  banners  of  old  fields ; this  music  of  hostile 
marches ; these  memories  of  an  unshared  past ; this 
history  of  a glory  in  which  one  only  had  part,  — do 
you  think  they  could  have  been  melted,  softened, 
and  beaten  quite  so  easily  into  the  unity  of  a common 
life  ? Might  not  the  world  have  seen  here,  instead, 
another  Attica,  and  Achaia  and  Lacedaemonia,  and 
^lessina,  and  Naples  and  Florence  and  Saxony  ? 
Did  not  that  colonial  life,  in  its  nature  — that  long 
winter  and  lingering  spring  — discipline  and  prepare 
men  for  the  future  of  their  civil  life,  as  an  April 
snow  enriches  the  earth  it  seems  to  bury?  Did  it 
not  keep  back  the  growths  which  might  otherwise 


500  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


have  shot  up  into  impracticable  ranknesses  and  diver- 
sities? Did  it  not  divert  men  from  themselves  to 
one  another  — from  Massachusetts  and  Virginia  and 
New  York,  to  the  forming  or  the  possible  America? 
Instead  of  stunting  and  enfeebling,  did  it  not  enlarge 
and  strengthen?  And  when  all  that  host  flocked 
together,  to  taste  together  the  first  waters  of  inde- 
pendent life,  and  one  high,  common,  proud  feeling 
pervaded  their  ranks,  lifted  up  all  hearts,  softened  all 
hearts  at  once  — and  a Rhode  Island  General  was 
seen  to  fight  at  the  Eutaws  ; and  a New  Yorker,  or 
one  well  beloved  of  Massachusetts,  at  Saratoga ; and 
a Virginian  to  guide  the  common  war,  and  a united 
army  to  win  the  victory  for  all  — was  not  the  transi- 
tion, in  a moment  so  sublime,  more  natural,  less 
violent,  more  easy  to  the  transcendent  conception  of 
nationality  itself? 

I do  not  deny,  too,  that  some  things  subordinate 
and  executory  are  a little  easier  than  at  first;  that 
the  friction  of  the  machine  is  less  somewhat ; that 
mere  administration  has  grown  simpler ; that  organ- 
izations have  been  effected  which  may  move  of  them- 
selves ; that  departments  have  been  created  and  set 
going,  which  can  go  alone  ; that  the  Constitution  has 
been  construed  authoritatively ; that  a course,  a 
routine  has  been  established  in  which  things  — some 
things  — may  go  on  as  now,  without  your  thought  or 
mind.  Bold  he  is,  moreover,  I admit,  not  wise,  who 
would  undertake  to  determine  what  chance,  or  what 
Providence  may  do,  and  what  man  may  do  in  the 
sustentation  of  national  life.  But  remember,  that  is 
a false  philosophy  and  that  is  no  religion  which 
absolves  from  duty.  That  is  impiety  which  boasts  of 


ADDKESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  501 


a will  of  God,  and  forgets  the  business  of  man.  Will 
and  reason  created,  will  and  reason  must  keep. 
Every  day,  still,  we  are  in  committee  of  the  whole  on 
the  question  of  the  Constitution  or  no  Constitution. 
Eternal  vigilance  is  the  condition  of  union,  as  they 
say  it  is  of  liberty.  I have  heard  that  if  the  same 
Omnipotence  which  formed  the  universe  at  first 
should  suspend  its  care  for  a day,  primeval  chaos 
were  come  again.  Dare  we  risk  such  a speculation 
in  politics  and  act  on  it?  Consider  how  new  is  this 
America  of  yours ! Some  there  are  yet  alive  who 
saw  this  infant  rocked  in  the  cradle.  Some  there  are 
yet  alive  who  beheld  the  first  inauguration  of  Wash- 
ington ; many  that  felt  how  tire  tidings  of  his  death 
smote  on  the  general  heart.  Some  now  alive  saw  the 
deep  broad  trench  first  excavated,  the  stone  drawn 
from  the  mountain-side,  the  mortar  mingled,  the 
Cyclopean  foundation  laid,  the  tears,  the  anthems,  the 
thanksgiving  of  the  dedication  day.  That  unknown, 
therefore  magnified,  therefore  magnificent  original ; 
that  august  tradition  of  a mixed  human  and  Divine  ; 
that  hidden  fountain ; the  long,  half-hidden  flow 
glancing  uncertain  and  infrequent  through  the  open- 
ing of  the  old  forest,  spreading  out,  at  last,  after 
leagues,  after  centuries,  into  the  clear  daylight  of 
history ; the  authoritative  prescription ; the  legend, 
the  fable,  the  tones  of  uncertain  harps,  the  acquies- 
cence of  generations,  rising  in  a long  line  to  life  as 
to  a gift,  — where  for  us  are  they  ? On  all  this 
architecture  of  utility  and  reason,  where  has  time 
laid  a finger?  What  angularity  has  it  rounded; 
what  stone  has  it  covered  with  moss ; on  what  salient 
or  what  pendant  coigne  of  vantage  has  it  built  its 


502  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


nest ; on  what  deformity  has  its  moonlight  and  twi- 
light fallen  ? What  enables  us  then  to  withhold  for 
a moment  the  sustaining  hand  ? The  counsel  of  phi- 
losophy and  history,  of  Cicero,  of  Machiavel,  of  Mon- 
tesquieu, to  turn  to  the  first  principles,  to  I’eproduce 
and  reconstruct  the  ancient  freedom,  the  masculine 
virtues,  the  plain  wisdom  of  the  original  — is  it  not 
seasonable  counsel  eminently  for  you?  Remember, 
your  reason,  your  will,  may  keep,  must  keep  what 
reason  and  will  builded.  Yours  is  the  responsibility, 
yours,  to  country,  to  man,  unshared,  unconcealed. 

I do  not  know  that  I need  to  say  next  that  such  a 
spirit  of  nationality  reposing  on  will  and  reason,  or, 
however  produced,  not  spontaneous,  and  therefore  to 
some  extent  artificial,  demands  a specific  culture  to 
develop  it  and  to  make  it  intense,  sure  and  constant. 
I need  not  say  this,  because  it  is  so  plain ; but  it  is 
important  as  well  as  plain.  There  is  a love  of  country 
which  comes  uncalled  for,  one  knows  not  how.  It 
comes  in  with  the  very  air,  the  eye,  the  ear,  the 
instincts,  the  first  taste  of  the  mother’s  milk,  the 
first  beatings  of  the  heart.  The  faces  of  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  the  loved  father  and  mother,  — the 
laugh  of  playmates,  the  old  willow-tree,  and  well, 
and  school-house,  the  bees  at  work  in  the  spring,  the 
note  of  the  robin  at  evening,  the  kdlaby,  the  cows 
coming  home,  the  singing-book,  the  catechism,  the 
visits  of  neighbors,  the  general  training,  — all  things 
which  make  childhood  happy,  begin  it ; and  then  as 
the  age  of  the  passions  and  the  age  of  the  reason 
draw  on,  and  love  and  the  sense  of  home  and  secu- 
rity and  property  under  law,  come  to  life  ; — and  as 
the  story  goes  round,  and  as  the  book  or  the  news- 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY-  503 


paper  relates  the  less  favored  lots  of  other  lands,  and 
the  public  and  the  private  sense  of  a man  is  forming 
and  formed,  there  is  a type  of  patriotism  already. 
Thus  they  had  imbibed  it  who  stood  that  charge  at 
Concord,  and  they  who  hung  deadly  on  the  retreat, 
and  they  who  threw  up  the  hasty  and  imperfect 
redoubt  on  Bunker  Hill  by  night,  set  on  it  the  blood- 
red  provincial  flag,  and  passed  so  calmly  with  Prescott 
and  Putnam  and  Warren  through  the  experiences 
of  the  first  fire. 

But  now  to  direct  this  spontaneous  sentiment  of 
hearts  to  the  Union,  to  raise  it  high,  to  make  it  broad 
and  deep,  to  instruct  it,  to  educate  it,  is  in  some 
things  harder,  some  things  easier  ; but  it  may  be 
done  ; it  must  be  done.  She,  too,  has  her  spectacles ; 
she,  too,  has  her  great  names ; she,  too,  has  her  food 
for  patriotism,  for  childhood,  for  man.  “ Americans,” 
said  an  orator  of  France,  “begin  with  the  infant  in 
the  cradle.  Let  the  first  word  he  lisps  be  Washing- 
ton.” Hang  on  his  neck  on  that  birthday,  and  that 
day  of  his  death  at  Mount  Vernon,  the  Medal  or 
Congress,  by  its  dark  ribbon ; tell  him  the  story  of 
the  flag,  as  it  passes  glittering  along  the  road ; bid 
him  listen  to  that  plain,  old-fashioned,  stirring  music 
of  the  Union ; lead  him  when  school  is  out  at  even- 
ing to  the  grave  of  his  great-grandfather,  the  old  sol- 
dier of  the  war  ; bid  him,  like  Hannibal,  at  nine  years 
old,  lay  the  little  hand  on  that  Constitution  and 
swear  reverently  to  observe  it ; lift  him  up  and  lift 
yourselves  up  to  the  height  of  American  feeling ; 
open  to  him,  and  think  for  yourselves,  on  the  rela- 
tion of  America  to  the  States  ; show  him  upon  the 
map  the  area  to  which  she  has  extended  herself ; the 


504  ADDRESS  ON  THE  EOURTH  OE  JULY. 


climates  that  come  into  the  number  of  her  months ; 
the  silver  paths  of  her  trade,  wide  as  the  world  ; tell 
him  of  her  contributions  to  humanity,  and  her  pro- 
tests for  free  government ; keep  with  him  the  glad 
and  solemn  feasts  of  her  appointment ; bury  her 
great  names  in  his  heart,  and  into  your  hearts  ; con- 
template habitually,  lovingly,  intelligently,  this  grand 
abstraction,  this  vast  reality  of  good ; and  such  an 
institution  may  do  somewhat  to  transform  this  sur- 
passing beauty  into  a national  life,  which  shall  last 
while  sun  and  moon  endure. 

But  there  is  another  condition  of  our  nationality 
of  which  I must  say  something,  and  that  is  that  it 
rests  on  compromise.  America,  the  Constitution, 
practicable  policy,  all  of  it,  are  a compromise.  Our 
public  is  possible  — it  can  draw  its  breath  for  a day 
— only  bj"  compromise. 

There  is  a cant  of  shallowness  and  fanaticism  which 
misunderstands  and  denies  this.  There  is  a distem- 
pered and  ambitious  morality  which  says  civil  pru- 
dence is  no  virtue.  There  is  a philanthropy,  — so 
it  calls  itself,  — pedantry,  arrogance,  folly,  cruelty, 
impiousness,  I call  it,  fit  enough  for  a pulpit,  totally 
unfit  for  a people ; fit  enough  for  a preacher,  totally 
unfit  for  a statesman  ; — which,  confounding  large 
things  with  little  things,  ends  with  means,  subordi- 
nate ends  with  chief  ends,  one  man’s  sphere  of  re- 
sponsibility with  another  man’s  sphere  of  responsi- 
bility, seed-time  with  harvest,  one  science  with 
another  science,  one  truth  with  a,nother  truth,  one 
jurisdiction  with  another  jurisdiction,  the  span-long 
day  of  life  with  the  duration  of  States,  generals  with 
universals,  the  principle  with  the  practice,  the  Anglo- 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  505 


Celtic-Saxon  of  America  with  the  pavers  of  Paris, 
cutting  down  the  half-grown  tree  to  snatch  the  un- 
ripe fruit — there  is  a philanthropy  which  scolds  at 
this  even,  and  calls  it  names. 

To  such  a spirit  I have  nothing  to  say,  but  I have 
something  to  say  to  you.  It  is  remarked  by  a very 
leading  writer  of  our  times.  Lord  Macaulay,  — enno- 
bled less  by  title  than  by  genius  and  fame,  — “ that 
compromise  is  the  essence  of  politics.”  That  which 
every  man  of  sense  admits  to  be  so  true,  as  to  have 
become  a commonplace  of  all  politics,  is  peculiarly 
true  of  our  national  politics.  Our  history  is  a record 
of  compromises ; and  this  freedom  and  this  glory 
attest  their  wisdom  and  bear  their  fruits.  But  can 
these  compromises  stand  the  higher  test  of  morality  ? 
Concessions  for  the  sake  of  the  nation ; concessions 
for  what  the  general  opinion  of  America  has  pro- 
nounced concessions  for  America ; concessions  in 
measures ; concessions  in  spirit  for  such  an  end ; - 
are  they  a virtue  ? 

I hope  it  is  worth  something,  in  the  first  place,  that 
the  judgment  of  civilization,  collected  from  all  its 
expression  and  all  its  exponents,  has  ranked  conces- 
sion for  the  keeping  and  well-being  of  the  nation, 
among  the  whiter  virtues.  Starting  with  the  grand 
central  sentiment  that  patriotism  is  the  noblest  prac- 
tical limitation  of  universal  philanthropy,  and  re- 
serving its  enthusiasm,  its  tears,  for  the  martyred 
patriot,  and  deeming  his  death  the  most  glorious  of 
deaths,  it  has  given  ever  the  first  place  to  him  whose 
firmness,  wisdom,  and  moderation  have  built  the 
State,  and  whose  firmness,  wisdom,  and  moderation 
keep  the  State.  These  traits  it  has  stamped  as  virtues. 


506  ADDEESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULF. 


These  traits  it  has  stamped  as  great  virtues.  Poetry, 
art,  history,  biography,  the  funeral  discourse,  the  ut- 
terance of  that  judgment,  how  universally  have  they 
so  stamped  them  ! He  whose  harp,  they  said,  attracted 
and  fused  savage  natures ; he  who  gave  to  his  people, 
not  the  best  government,  but  the  best  that  they  would 
bear  ; he  who  by  timely  adaptations  elevated  an  infe- 
rior class  to  equality  with  a superior  class,  and  made 
two  nations  into  one  ; he  whose  tolerance  and  com- 
prehension put  out  the  fires  of  persecution,  and 
placed  all  opinions  and  religions  on  one  plane  before 
the  law  ; he  whose  healing  counsels  composed  the 
distractions  of  a various  empire,  — he  is  the  great 
good  man  of  civilization.  Ambition  might  have  been 
his  aim  to  some  extent,  but  the  result  is  a country, 
a power,  a law.  On  that  single  title,  it  raised  his 
statue,  hung  on  it  the  garland  that  cannot  die,  kept 
his  birthday  by  the  firing  of  cannons,  and  ringing  of 
bells,  and  processions,  and  thanks  to  God  Almighty. 
He  may  not  have  been  fortunate  in  war ; he  may 
not  have  been  foremost  among  men  of  genius;  but 
what  Luxembourg,  what  Eugene,  what  Maiiborongh, 
heaped  on  his  ashes  such  a monument,  as  the  wise, 
just,  cold,  Dutch  deliverer  of  England?  What  Gates, 
what  Lee,  what  Alexander,  what  Napoleon,  won 
such  honor,  such  love,  such  sacred  and  warm-felt 
approval  as  our  civil  father,  Washington?  Does  that 
judgment,  the  judgment  of  civilization,  condemn  De- 
mosthenes, who  would  have  invited  Persia  to  help 
against  Macedon  ; or  Cicero,  who  praised  and  soothed 
the  young  Octavius,  to  win  him  from  Antony ; or 
the  Calvinist  William,  who  invited  the  papal  Austria 
to  fight  with  him  against  Louis  XIV.  ? Does  it 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  507 


dream  of  branding  such  an  act  as  hypocrisy,  or  apos- 
tasy? Does  it  not  recognize  it  rather  as  wisdom, 
patriotism,  and  virtue,  masculine  and  intelligent? 
Does  it  not  rather  give  him  all  honor  and  thanks, 
who  could  forego  the  sweets  of  revenge,  rise  above 
the  cowardice  of  selfishness  and  the  narrow  memory 
of  personal  inapplicable  antecedents,  and  for  the  love 
of  Athens,  of  Rome,  of  England,  of  liberty,  could 
magnanimously  grasp  the  solid  glory  of  great  souls  ? 

But  this  judgment  of  civilization,  I maintain  next, 
is  a sound  moral  judgment.  It  is  founded  on  a theory 
of  duty  which  makes  the  highest  utility  to  man  the 
grandest  achievement  of  man.  It  thinks  that  it  dis- 
cerns that  the  national  life  is  the  true  useful  human 
life.  It  thinks  that  it  discerns  that  the  greater  in- 
cludes the  less ; that  beneath  that  order,  that  govern- 
ment, that  law,  that  power,  reform  is  easy  and  reform 
is  safe,  — reform  of  the  man,  reform  of  the  nation. 
It  ventures  to  hold  that  a nation  is  the  grandest  of 
the  instrumentalities  of  morals  and  religion.  It  holds 
that  under  that  wing,  beneath  that  lightning,  there 
is  room,  there  is  capacity,  for  humbly  imitating  His 
plan  who  sits  in  the  circle  of  eternity,  and  with  whom 
a thousand  years  are  as  one  day ; room,  motive,  ca- 
pacity for  labor,  for  culture,  for  preparation,  for  the 
preaching  of  the  gospel  of  peace  to  all,  for  elevating  by 
slow,  sure,  and  quiet  gradations  down  to  its  depths, 
down  to  its  chains,  society  itself.  Concession  to  keep 
such  an  agent  is  concession  to  promote  such  ends. 

Do  you  remember  what  a great  moralist  and  a 
great  man.  Archbishop  Whately,  said  on  this  subject 
in  the  House  of  Lords?  He  was  advocating  conces- 
sion to  Catholics ; and  see  how  much  stronger  was 


508  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


truth  than  the  hatred  of  theologians.  The  biogra- 
pher of  Peel  calls  the  speech  a splendid  piece  of  rea- 
soning ; and  it  decided  the  vote  : — 

“So  great  is  the  outcry  which  it  has  been  the 
fashion  among  some  persons  for  several  years  past  to 
raise  against  expediency^  that  the  very  word  has  be- 
come almost  an  ill-omened  sound.  It  seems  to  be 
thought  by  many  a sufficient  ground  of  condemna- 
tion of  any  legislator  to  say  that  he  is  guided  by 
views  of  expediency.  And  some  seem  even  to  be 
ashamed  of  acknowledging  that  they  are,  in  any 
degree,  so  guided.  I,  for  one,  however,  am  content 
to  submit  to  the  imputation  of  being  a votary  of  ex- 
pediency. And  what  is  more,  I do  not  see  what 
right  any  one  who  is  not  so  has  to  sit  in  Parliament, 
or  to  take  any  part  in  public  affairs.  Any  one  who 
may  choose  to  acknowledge  that  the  measures  he 
opposes  are  expedient,  or  that  those  he  recommends 
are  inexpedient,  ought  manifestly  to  have  no  seat  in 
a deliberative  assembly,  which  is  constituted  for  the 
express  and  sole  purpose  of  considering  what  meas- 
ures are  conducive  to  the  public  good ; — in  other 
words,  ‘ expedient.’  I say,  the  '■public  good,’  because, 
of  course,  by  ‘ expediency  ’ we  mean,  not  that  which 
may  benefit  some  individual,  or  some  party  or  class 
of  men,  at  the  expense  of  the  public,  but  what  con- 
duces to  the  good  of  the  nation.  Now  this,  it  is 
evident,  is  the  very  object  for  which  deliberative 
assemblies  are  constituted.  And  so  far  is  this  from 
being  regarded,  by  our  Church  at  least,  as  something 
at  variance  with  religious  duty,  that  we  have  a 
prayer  specially  appointed  to  be  offered  up  during 
the  sitting  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  that  their 


ADDKESS  ON  THE  FOUKTH  OF  JULY.  509 


consultations  may  be  ‘ directed  and  prospered  for  the 
safety,  honor,  and  welfare  of  our  sovereign  and  her 
dominions.’  Now,  if  this  be  not  the  very  definition 
of  political  expediency,  let  any  one  say  what  is.” 

I have  no  doubt,  however,  that  this  judgment  of 
civilization  rests  in  part  on  the  difficulty  and  the 
rarity  of  the  virtue  which  it  praises.  We  prize  the 
difficult  and  the  rare  because  they  are  difficult  and 
rare ; and  when  you  consider  how  easy  and  hoAV 
tempting  it  is  to  fall  in  with  and  float  Avith  the 
stream  on  which  so  many  swim  ; how  easy  is  that 
broad  road  and  how  sweet  that  approved  strain  ; how 
easy  and  how  tempting  it  is  to  please  an  assenting 
congregation,  or  circle  of  readers,  or  local  public  ; 
how  easy  and  how  tempting  to  compound  for  sins 
which  an  influential  man  “is  not  inclined  to,  by 
damning  those  he  has  no  mind  to ; ” how  easy  to 
please  those  we  see,  and  forget  those  out  of  sight; 
what  courage,  what  love  of  truth  are  demanded  to 
dissent ; how  hard  it  is  to  rise  to  the  vast  and  varied 
conception,  and  to  the  one  idea,  which  grasps  and 
adjusts  all  the  ideas  ; how  easy  it  is  for  the  little  man 
to  become  great,  the  shallow  man  to  become  pro- 
found ; the  coward  out  of  danger  to  be  brave ; the 
free-state  man  to  be  an  anti-slavery  man,  and  to 
write  tracts  which  his  friends  alone  read  ; when  you 
think  that  even  the  laughter  of  fools  and  children 
and  madmen,  little  ministers,  little  editors,  and  little 
politicians,  can  inflict  the  mosquito  bite,  not  deep, 
but  stinging ; — who  wonders  that  the  serener  and 
the  calmer  judgment  allots  “ to  patient  continuance 
in  well  doing,”  to  resistance  of  the  parts,  to  conten- 
tion for  the  whole,  to  counsels  of  moderation  and 
concession,  “ glory,  honor,  and  immortality  ” ? 


510  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


“ Wliat  nothing  earthly  gives  or  can  destroy, 

The  soul’s  calm  sunshine,  and  the  heartfelt  joy.” 

But  this  judgment  of  civilization  is  the  judgment 
of  religion  too.  You  believe  with  the  Bible,'  with 
Cicero,  with  the  teachings  of  history,  that  God  wills 
the  national  life.  He  wills  civilization,  therefore 
society,  therefore  law,  therefore  government,  there- 
fore nations.  How  do  we  know  this  ? Always,  from 
the  birth  of  the  historical  time,  civilized  man  led  the 
national  life.  Therein  always  the  nature  God  has 
given  him  has  swelled  to  all  its  perfection,  and  has 
rendered  the  worthiest  praise  to  the  Giver  of  the  gift. 
He  who  wills  the  end  wills  the  indispensable  means ; 
he  wills  the  means  which  his  teachei's,  nature  and 
experience,  have  ascertained  to  be  indispensable. 
Then  he  wills  these  means,  concession,  compromise, 
love,  forbearance,  help,  because  his  teachers,  nature 
and  experience,  have  revealed  them  to  be  indispensa- 
ble. Then  he  wills  our  national  life.  Then  he  wills 
the  spirit  which  made  it  and  which  keeps  it.  Do  you 
dare  to  say,  with  President  Davies,  that  jmu  believe 
that  Providence  raised  up  that  young  man,  Washing- 
ton, for  some  great  public  service,  — with  the  specta- 
tor of  that  first  inauguration,  that  you  believe  the 
Supreme  Being  looked  down  with  complacency  on 
that  act, — with  that  Senate  which  thanked  God  that 
he  had  conducted  to  the  tomb  a fame  whiter  than  it 
was  brilliant ; and  yet  dare  to  say  that  the  spirit  of 
Washington  ought  not  to  be  your  spirit,  his  counsels 
your  guide,  his  Farewell  Address  your  scripture  of 
political  religion?  But  what  does  he  say?  I need 
not  repeat  it,  for  you  have  it  by  heart ; but  what  said 
a greater  than  he  ? “ Render  unto  Ctesar  the  things 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  EOURTH  OF  JULY.  611 


•which  are  Caesar’s.”  Render  under  Caesar  the  things 
that  are  Caesar’s,  and  thus,  to  that  extent,  you  “ ren- 
der unto  God  the  things  which  are  God’s.”  Be  these 
words  our  answer  and  our  defence.  When  they 
press  us  with  the  commonplaces  of  anti-slaveiy,  be 
these  words  of  wisdom  our  answer.  Say  to  them, 
“ Yes,  I thank  God  I keep  no  slaves.  I am  sorry 
there  is  one  on  earth ; I am  sorry  even  that  there  is 
need  of  law,  of  subordination,  of  order,  of  govern- 
ment, of  the  discipline  of  the  schools,  of  prisons,  of 
the  gallows ; I wonder  at  such  a sj^stem  of  things ; 
piously  I would  reform  it ; but  beneath  that  same 
system  I am  an  American  citizen  ; beneath  that  sys- 
tem, this  country  it  is  my  post  to  keep ; while  I keep 
her  there  is  hope  for  all  men,  for  the  evil  man,  for 
the  intemperate  man,  for  slaves,  for  free,  for  all ; 
that  hope  your  rash  and  hasty  hand  would  prostrate  ; 
that  hope  my  patience  would  advance.”  Have  they 
done  ? Are  they  answered  ? 

There  are  other  conditions  and  other  laws  of  our 
nationality  on  which  there  needs  to  be  said  something 
if  there  were  time.  That  it  is  not  and  that  it  cannot 
come  to  good,  that  it  cannot  achieve  its  destiny,  that 
it  cannot  live  even,  unless  it  rests  on  the  understand- 
ing of  the  State,  you  know.  How  gloriously  this  is 
anticipated  by  our  own  Constitution,  you  remember. 
How  well  said  Washington  — who  said  all  things  as 
he  did  all  things,  well  — “ that  in  proportion  as  gov- 
ernments rest  on  public  opinion,  that  opinion  must 
be  enlightened.”  There  must  then  be  intelligence  at 
the  foundation.  But  what  intelligence?  Not  that 
which  puffeth  up,  I fancy,  not  flippancy,  not  smart- 
ness, not  sciolism,  whose  fruits,  whose  expression  are 


512  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


vanity,  restlessness,  insubordination,  bate,  irrever- 
ence, unbelief,  incapacity  to  combine  ideas,  and  great 
capacity  to  overwork  a single  one.  Not  quite  this. 
This  is  that  little  intelligence  and  little  learning 
which  are  dangerous.  These  are  the  characteristics, 
I have  read,  which  pave  the  way  for  the  downfall  of 
States  ; not  those  on  which  a long  glory  and  a long 
strength  have  towered.  These,  more  than  the  gen- 
eral of  Macedon,  gave  the  poison  to  Demosthenes  in 
the  Island  Temple.  These,  not  the  triumvirate  alone, 
closed  the  eloquent  lips  of  Cicero.  These,  before 
the  populous  North  had  done  it,  spread  beneath 
Gibraltar  to  the  Libyan  sands  in  the  downward  age. 
These,  not  Christianity,  not  Goth,  not  Lombard,  nor 
Norman,  rent  that  fair  one  Italy  asunder,  and  turned 
the  garden  and  the  mistress  of  the  earth  into  a school, 
into  a hiding  place,  of  assassins,  — of  spies  from  Aus- 
tria, of  spies  from  France,  with  gold  to  buy  and  ears 
to  catch  and  punish  the  dreams  of  liberty  whispered 
in  sleep,  and  shamed  the  memories  and  hopes  of 
Machiavel  and  Mazzini,  and  gave  for  that  joy  and 
that  beauty,  mourning  and  heaviness.  This  is  not 
the  intelligence  our  Constitution  means,  Washington 
meant,  and  our  country  needs.  It  is  intelligence 
which,  however  it  begins,  ends  with  belief,  with 
humility,  with  obedience,  with  veneration,  with  admi- 
ration, with  truth  ; which  recognizes  and  then  learns 
and  then  teaches  the  duties  of  a comprehensive 
citizenship ; which  hopes  for  a future  on  earth 
and  beyond  earth,  but  turns  habitually,  reverently, 
thoughtfully  to  the  old  paths,  the  great  men,  the 
hallowed  graves  of  the  fathers ; which  binds  in  one 
bundle  of  love  the  kindred  and  mighty  legend  of 


I 


ADDEESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OE  JULY. 


513 


revolution  and  liberty,  the  life  of  Clirist  in  the  Evan- 
gelists, and  the  Constitution  in  its  plain  text ; which 
can  read  with  Lord  Chatham,  Thucydides  and  the 
stories  of  master  States  of  antiquity,  yet  holds  vuth 
him  that  the  papers  of  the  Congress  of  1776  were 
better ; whose  patriotism  grows  warm  at  Marathon, 
but  warmer  at  Monmouth,  at  Yorktown,  at  Bunker 
Hill,  at  Saratoga ; which  reforms  by  preserving, 
serves  by  standing  and  waiting,  fears  God  and  honors 
America. 

I had  something  to  say  more  directly  still  on  the 
ethics  of  nationality,  on  the  duty  of  instructing  the 
conscience ; on  the  crimes  of  treason,  and  slander, 
and  fraud,  that  are  committed  around  us  in  its  name ; 
on  the  shallowness  and  stupidity  of  the  doctrine  that 
the  mere  moral  sentiments,  trained  by  a mere  moral 
discipline,  may  safely  guide  the  complex  civil  life  ; 
of  the  teachers  and  studies  which  they  need  to  fit 
them  for  so  precious,  difficrdt,  and  delicate  a domin- 
ion ; of  the  high  place  in  the  scale  of  duties,  which, 
thus  fitted,  they  assign  to  nationality  ; of  the  judg- 
ment which,  thus  fitted,  they  would  apply  to  one  or 
two  of  the  commonplaces  and  practices  of  the  time. 
But  I pass  it  all  to  say  only  that  these  ethics  teach 
the  true  subordination,  and  the  true  reconciliation  of 
apparently  incompatible  duties.  These  only  are  the 
casiusts,  or  the  safest  casuists  for  us.  Learn  from 
them  how  to  adjust  this  conflict  between  patriotism 
and  philanthropy.  To  us,  indeed,  there  seems  to  be 
no  such  conflict,  for  we  are  philanthropists  in  propor- 
tion as  we  are  unionists.  Our  philanthropy,  we 
venture  to  say,  is  a just  philanthropy.  That  is  all. 
It  loves  all  men,  it  helps  all  men,  it  respects  all 

33 


514  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


rights,  keeps  all  compacts,  recognizes  all  dangers, 
pities  all  suffering,  ignores  no  fact,  master  and  slave 
it  enfolds  alike.  It  happens  thus  that  it  contracts  the 
sphere  of  our  duty  somewhat,  and  changes  not  the 
nature,  but  the  time,  the  place,  the  mode  of  perform- 
ing it.  It  does  not  make  our  love  cold,  but  it  makes 
it  safe ; it  naturalizes  it,  it  baptizes  it  into  our  life  ; 
it  circumscribes  it  within  our  capacities  and  our 
necessities  ; it  sets  on  it  the  great  national  public 
seal.  If  you  say  that  thus  our  jratriotism  limits  our 
philanthropy,  I answer  that  ours  is  American  philan- 
thropy. Be-  this  the  virtue  we  boast,  and  this  the 
name  by  which  we  know  it.  In  this  name,  in  this 
quality,  find  the  standard  and  the  utterance  of  the 
virtue  itself.  By  this,  not  by  broad  phylacteries  and 
chief  seats,  the  keener  hate,  the  gloomier  fanaticism, 
the  louder  cry,  judge,  compare,  subordinate.  Do 
they  think  that  nobody  is  a philanthropist  but  them- 
selves? We,  too,  look  up  the  long  vista  and  gaze, 
rapt,  at  the  dazzling  ascent ; we,  too,  see  towers 
rising,  crowned,  imperial,  and  the  tribes  coming  to 
bend  in  the  opening  of  a latter  day.  But  we  see 
peace,  order,  reconciliation  of  rights  along  that  bright- 
ening future.  We  trace  all  along  that  succession  of 
reform,  the  presiding  instrumentalities  of  national 
life.  We  see  our  morality  working  itself  clearer  and 
clearer ; one  historical  and  conventional  right  or 
■wrong,  after  another,  falling  peacefully  and  still ; we 
hear  the  chain  breaking,  but  there  is  no  blood  on  it, 
none  of  his  whom  it  bound,  none  of  his  who  put  it  on 
him  ; we  hear  the  swelling  chorus  of  the  free,  but 
master  and  slave  unite  in  that  chorus,  and  there  is 
no  discordant  shriek  above  the  harmonv  : we  see  and 


ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


515 


•^e  hail  the  blending  of  our  own  glory  with  the 
eternal  light  of  God,  but  we  see,  too,  shapes  of  love 
and  beauty  ascending  and  descending  there  as  in  the 
old  vision ! 

Hold  fast  this  hope  ; distrust  the  philanthropy, 
distrust  the  ethics  which  would,  which  must,  turn  it 
into  shame.  Do  no  evil  that  good  may  come.  Per- 
form your  share,  for  you  have  a share,  in  the  abolition 
of  slavery  ; perform  your  share,  for  you  have  a share, 
in  the  noble  and  generous  strife  of  the  sections  — 
but  perform  it  by  keeping,  by  transmitting,  a united, 
LOWING,  AND  CHRISTIAN  AMERICA. 

But  why,  at  last,  do  I exhort,  and  why  do  I seem 
to  fear,  on  such  a day  as  this  ? Is  it  not  the  nation’s 
birthday?  Is  it  not  this  country  of  our  love  and  hopes, 
which  celebrates  it?  This  music  of  the  glad  march, 
these  banners  of  pride  and  beauty,  these  memories  so 
fragrant,  these  resolutions  of  patriotism  so  thought- 
ful, these  hands  pressed,  these  congratulations  and 
huzzaings  and  tears,  this  great  heart  throbbing  audi- 
bly, — are  they  not  hers,  and  do  they  not  assure  us  ? 
These  forests  of  masts,  these  singing  workshops  of 
labor,  these  fields  and  plantations  whitening  for  the 
harvest,  this  peace  and  plenty,  this  sleeping  thunder, 
these  bolts  in  the  closed,  strong  talon,  do  not  they  tell 
us  of  her  health,  her  strength,  and  her  future  ? This 
shadow  that  flits  across  our  grasses  and  is  gone,  this 
shallow  ripple  that  darkens  the  surface  of  our  broad 
and  widening  stream,  and  passes  away,  this  little 
perturbation  which  our  telescopes  cannot  find,  and 
which  our  science  can  hardly  find,  but  which  we 
know  cannot  change  the  course  or  hasten  the  doom 
of  one  star  ; have  these  any  terror  for  us  ? And  He 


516  ADDRESS  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

who  slumbers  not,  nor  sleeps,  who  keeps  watchfully 
the  city  of  his  love,  on  whose  will  the  life  of  nations 
is  suspended,  and  to  whom  all  the  shields  of  the 
earth  belong,  our  fathers’  God,  is  he  not  our  God, 
and  of  whom,  then,  and  of  what  shall  we  be  afraid? 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


517 


SPEECH  ON  THE  BIRTHDAY  OF  DANIEL 
WEBSTER,  JANUARY  18,  1859. 


[The  seventy-seventh  anniversary  of  the  birthday  of  Daniel 
Webster  was  commemorated  by  a banquet  at  the  Revere  House. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  feast,  and  after  the  opening  address  by 
the  president  of  the  day,  Hon.  Caleb  Cushing,  Mr.  Choate, 
being  called  upon,  spoke  as  follows:] 

I WOULD  not  have  it  supposed  for  a moment  that  I 
design  to  make  any  eulogy,  or  any  speech,  concern- 
ing the  great  man  whose  birthday  we  have  met  to 
observe.  I hasten  to  assure  you  that  I shall  attempt 
to  do  no  such  thing.  There  is  no  longer  need  of  it, 
or  fitness  for  it,  for  any  purpose.  Times  have  been 
when  such  a thing  might  have  been  done  with  pro- 
priety. While  he  was  yet  personally  among  us, — 
while  he  was  yet  walking  in  his  strength  in  the  paths 
or  ascending  the  heights  of  active  public  life,  or 
standing  upon  them,  — and  so  many  of  the  good  and 
wise,  so  many  of  the  wisest  and  best  of  our  country, 
from  all  parts  of  it,  thought  he  had  title  to  the  great 
office  of  our  system,  and  would  have  had  him  for- 
mally presented  for  it,  it  was  fit  that  those  who 
loved  and  honored  him  should  publicly  — with  ef- 
fort, with  passion,  with  argument,  with  contention, 
— recall  the  series  of  his  services,  his  life  of  elevated 


518 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


labors,  finished  and  unfinished,  dispiaj^  his  large 
qualities  of  character  and  mind,  and  compare  him, 
somewhat,  in  all  these  things,  with  the  great  men, 
his  competitors  for  the  great  prize.  Then  was  there 
a battle  to  be  fought,  and  it  was  needful  to  fight  it. 

And  so,  again,  in  a later  day,  while  our  hearts 
were  yet  bleeding  with  the  sense  of  recent  loss,  and 
he  lay  newly  dead  in  his  chamber,  and  the  bells  were 
tolling,  and  his  grave  was  open,  and  the  sunlight  of 
an  autumn  day  was  falling  on  that  long  funeral  train, 
I do  not  say  it  was  fit  only,  it  was  unavoidable,  that 
we  all,  in  some  choked  utterance  and  some  imperfect, 
sincere  expression,  should,  if  we  could  not  praise  the 
patriot,  lament  the  man. 

But  these  times  have  gone  by.  The  race  of  honor 
and  duty  is  for  him  all  run.  The  high  endeavor  is 
made,  and  it  is  finished.  The  monument  is  budded. 
He  is  entered  into  his  glory.  The  day  of  hope,  of 
pride,  of  grief,  has  been  followed  by  the  long  rest ; 
and  the  sentim.ents  of  grief,  pride,  and  hope,  are  all 
merged  in  the  sentiment  of  calm  and  implicit  vener- 
ation. We  have  buried  him  in  our  hearts.  That  is 
enough  to  say.  Our  estimation  of  him  is  part  of  our 
creed.  We  have  no  argument  to  make  or  hear  upon 
it.  We  enter  into  no  dispute  about  him.  We  per- 
mit no  longer  any  man  to  question  us  as  to  what  he 
was,  what  he  had  done,  how  much  we  loved  him, 
how  much  the  country  loved  him,  and  how  well  he 
deserved  it.  We  admire,  we  love,  and  we  are  still. 
Be  this  enough  for  us  to  say. 

Is  it  not  enough  that  we  just  stand  silent  on  the 
deck  of  the  bark  fast  flying  from  the  shore,  and  turn 
and  see.  as  the  line  of  coast  disappears,  and  the  head- 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


519 


lands  and  hills  and  all  the  land  go  down,  and  the 
islands  are  swallowed  up,  the  great  mountain  stand- 
ing there  in  its  strength  and  majesty,  supreme  and 
still  — to  see  how  it  swells  away  up  from  the  subject 
and  fading  vale  ? to  see  that,  though  clouds  and  tem- 
pests, and  the  noise  of  waves,  and  the  yelping  of  curs, 
may  be  at  its  feet,  eternal  sunshine  has  settled  upon 
its  head  ? 

There  is  another  reason  why  I should  not  trust 
myself  to  say  much  more  of  him  to-night.  It  does 
so  happen  that  you  cannot  praise  Mr.  Webster  for 
that  which  really  characterized  and  identified  him  as 
a public  man,  but  that  you  seem  to  be  composing  a 
tract  for  the  times. 

It  does  so  happen  that  the  influence  of  his  whole 
public  life  and  position  was  so  pronounced.,  ■ — so  to 
speak,  — so  defined,  sharp,  salient ; the  spirit  of  his 
mind,  the  tone  of  his  mind,  was  so  unmistakable  and 
so  peculiar  ; the  nature  of  the  public  man  was  so 
transparent  and  so  recognized  everywhere,  — that 
you  cannot  speak  of  him  without  seeming  to  grow 
polemical,  without  seeming  to  make  an  attack  upon 
other  men,  upon  organizations,  upon  policy,  upon 
tendencies.  You  cannot  say  of  him  what  is  true,  and 
what  you  know  to  be  true,  but  you  are  thought  to  be 
disparaging  or  refuting  somebody  else. 

In  this  way  there  comes  to  be  mingled  with  our 
service  of  the  heart  something  of  the  discordant,  in- 
congruous, and  temporary.  So  it  is  everywhere. 
They  could  not  keep  the  birthday  of  Charles  James 
Fox,  but  they  were  supposed  to  attack  the  grave  of 
Pitt,  and  aim  at  a Whig  administration  and  a reform 
bill.  An  historian  can  hardly  admire  the  architect- 


520 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


ure  of  the  age  of  Pericles,  or  find  some  palliation  of 
the  trial  of  Socrates,  but  they  say  he  is  a Democrat, 
a Chartist,  or  a friend  of  the  secret  ballot.  The  mar- 
vellous eloquence,  and  noble,  patriotic  enterprise  of 
our  Everett,  can  scarcely  escape  such  misconstruction 
of  small  jealousy. 

Yes  ; sad  it  is,  but  true,  that  you  cannot  say  here 
to-night  what  you  think,  what  you  know,  what  you 
thank  God  for,  about  the  Union-loving  heart,  the 
Constitution-defending  brain,  the  moderation-breath- 
ing spirit,  the  American  nature  of  the  great  man,  — 
our  friend,  — but  they  call  out  you  are  thinking  of 
them ! So  powerful  is  the  suggestion  of  contrast, 
and  such  cowards  does  conscience  make  of  all  bad 
men ! 

I feel  the  effect  of  this  embarrassment.  I protest 
against  such  an  application  of  any  thing  I say.  But 
I feel,  also,  that  it  will  be  better  than  such  a protest, 
to  sum  up,  in  the  briefest  and  plainest  and  soberest 
expression,  what  I deem  will  be  the  record  of  his- 
tory, — let  me  hope,  with  the  immunities  of  history, 
concerning  this  man,  as  a public  man. 

He  was,  then,  let  me  say,  of  the  very  foremost  of 
great  American  Statesmen.  This  is  the  class  of 
greatness  in  which  he  is  to  be  ranked.  As  such, 
always,  he  is  to  be  judged.  What  he  would  have 
been  in  another  department  of  thought ; how  high 
he  would  have  risen  under  other  institutions  ; what 
he  could  have  done  if  politics  had  not  turned  him 
from  calm  philosophy  aside  ; whether  he  were  really 
made  for  mankind,  and  to  America  gave  up  what  was 
meant  for  mankind  ; how  his  mere  naked  intellectual 
ability  compared  with  this  man’s  or  that,  — is  a need- 
less and  vain  speculation. 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


521 


I may,  however,  be  allowed  to  say  that,  although 
I have  seen  him  act,  and  heard  him  speak,  and  give 
counsel,  in  very  high  and  very  sharp  and  difficult 
crises,  I always  felt  that  if  more  had  been  needed 
more  would  have  been  done,  and  that  half  his 
strength  or  all  his  strength  he  put  not  forth.  I 
never  saw  him  make  what  is  called  an  effort  without 
feeling  that,  let  the  occasion  be  what  it  would,  he 
would  have  swelled  out  to  its  limits.  There  was 
always  a reservoir  of  power  of  which  you  never 
sounded  the  depths,  certainly  never  saw  the  bottom ; 
and  I cannot  well  imagine  any  great  historical  and 
civil  occasion  to  which  he  would  not  have  brought, 
and  to  which  he  would  not  be  acknowledged  to  have 
brought,  an  adequate  ability.  He  had  wisdom  to 
have  guided  the  counsels  of  Austria  as  Metternich 
did,  if  he  had  loved  absolutism  as  Avell ; skill  enough 
and  eloquence  enough  to  have  saved  the  life  of  Louis 
the  Sixteenth,  if  skill  and  eloquence  could  have  done 
it ; learning,  services,  character,  and  dignity  enough 
for  a Lord  Chancellor  of  England,  if  wisdom  in  coun- 
sel and  eloquence  in  debate  would  have  been  titles  to 
so  proud  a distinction. 

But  his  class  is  that  of  American  Statesmen.  In 
that  class  he  is  to  find  his  true  magnitude.  As  he 
stood  there  he  is  to  take  his  place  for  ever  in  our 
system.  To  that  constellation  he  has  gone  up,  to 
that  our  telescopes  or  our  naked  eye  are  to  be  di- 
rected, and  there  I think  he  shines  with  a large  and 
unalterable  glory. 

In  every  work  regard  the  writer’s  end.  In  every 
life  regard  the  actor’s  end. 

In  saying  this  I do  not  mean  to  ignore  or  disparage 


522 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


his  rank,  also,  in  the  profession  of  the  law.  In  that 
profession  he  labored,  by  that  he  lived,  of  that  he 
Avas  proud,  to  that  he  brought  vast  ability  and  ex 
quisite  judgment,  and  in  that  he  rose  at  last  to  the 
leadership  of  the  bar.  But  I regard  that,  rather,  as  a 
superinduced,  collateral,  accessional  fame,  a necessity 
of  greatness,  — a transcendent  greatness,  certainly  ; 
but  it  was  not  the  labor  he  most  loved,  it  was  not 
the  fame  which  attracts  so  many  pilgrims  to  his 
tomb,  and  stirs  so  many  hearts  when  his  name  is 
sounded.  There  have  been  Bacons,  and  Clarendons, 
and  one  Cicero,  and  one  Demosthenes,  who  were 
lawyers.  But  they  are  not  the  Bacons,  the  Claren- 
dons, they  are  not  the  Cicero  and  the  Demosthenes 
of  historical  fame. 

It  is  a noble  and  a useful  profession ; but  it  was 
not  large  enough  for  the  whole  of  Webster. 

In  that  class,  then,  let  me  say  next,  — which  is  the 
class  of  American  statesmen,  — of  foremost  American 
statesmen,  — it  happened  to  him  to  be  thrown  on  our 
third  American  age.  This  ever  must  be  regarded 
when  we  would  do  him  justice,  or  understand  him, 
or  compare  him  with  others. 

It  is  easy  to  say  and  to  see  that,  if  his  lot  had  made 
him  a member  of  the  Revolutionary  Congress,  he 
would  have  stood  by  the  side  of  Washington  and 
Jefferson,  Adams  and  Chase,  and  that  from  his 
tongue,  too.  Independence  would  have  thundered. 
It  is  easy  to  say  and  see  that  it  would  not  have  been 
that  his  lips  were  frozen  and  his  arm  palsied  ; that 
the  cabals  of  Gates,  of  Conway,  could  have  gone  un- 
detected there  ; that  a foolish  fear  of  long  enlistments 
would  have  delayed  the  great  strife  ; that  so  many 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


523 


retreats,  pinched  winter-quarters,  blood  traced  on  the 
snow  by  the  naked  feet  of  bleeding  men,  would  have 
proved  that  the  want  of  funds  and  the  fear  of  un- 
popularity were  too  strong  for  the  sentiment  of 
Liberty ! 

It  is  easy  to  say,  too,  and  to  see  that  if  he  had 
been  thrown  on  the  constitutional  age  he  would  have 
been  found  with  Hamilton,  Jay,  and  Madison  ; that 
his  pen,  too,  and  his  tongue  would  have  leaped  to 
impress  that  generation  with  the  nature  and  neces- 
sity of  that  great  work  ; that  he  would  have  risen  to 
the  utmost  height  of  the  great  argument,  and  that 
on  the  pillars,  on  the  foundation-stones  of  that  Con- 
stitution which  he  first  read  on  the  little  pocket- 
handkerchief,  his  name,  his  wisdom,  too,  would  now 
be  found  chiselled  deeply.  But  he  was  cast  on  the 
third  age  of  our  history,  and  how  was  his  part  acted 
there  ? 

In  this  class,  then,  let  me  say  further,  of  the  fore- 
most of  great  American  statesmen,  I say  there  was 
never  one,  of  any  one  of  our  periods,  — I shall  not 
except  the  highest  of  the  first  period,  — of  a more 
ardent  love  of  our  America^  and  of  the  whole  of  it; 
of  a truer,  deeper,  broader  sense  of  what  the  Fare- 
well Address  calls  the  Unity  of  Government,  — its 
nature,  spring,  necessity,  — and  the  means  of  secur- 
ing it ; or  who  said  more,  and  did  more  to  sink  it 
deep  in  the  American  heart.  Of  the  relations  of  the 
States  to  our  system,  — of  their  powers,  their  rights, 
their  quasi  sovereignty,  — he  said  less,  not  because 
he  thought  less  or  knew  less,  but  because  he  saw 
there  was  less  necessity  for  it.  But  the  Union,  the 
Constitution,  the  national  federal  life,  the  American 


524  SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


name,  — E Plurihus  Unum,  — these  filled  his  heart, 
these  dwelt  in  his  habitual  speech. 

This,  I think,  exactly,  was  his  specialty.  To  this 
master  passion  and  master  sentiment  his  whole  life 
was  subordinated  carefully.  He  was  totus  in  illis. 
He  began  his  public  course  in  opposition  to  the  party 
which  had  the  general  government;  and  he  dearly 
loved  New  England  ; but  he  “ had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  Hartford  Convention.”  He  drew  his  first  breath 
in  a Northern  State  and  a Northern  region  ; his  opin- 
ions were  shaped  and  colored  by  that  birthplace  and 
by  that  place  of  residence ; the  local  interests  he 
powerfully  advocated  ; for  that  advocacy  he  has  even 
been  taunted  and  distrusted.  But  it  was  because  he 
thought  he  saw,  and  just  so  far  as  he  saw,  that  the 
local  interest  was  identical  with  the  national  interest, 
and  that  that  advocacy  was  advocacy  for  the  whole, 
and  that  policy  was  American  policy,  that  he  es- 
poused it. 

Some  aged  clergyman  has  been  reported  to  have 
said,  that  the  sermon  — whatever  the  theology,  what- 
ever the  ability  — was  essentially  defective,  if  it 
did  not  leave  on  the  hearer  the  impression  that 
the  preacher  loved  his  soul,  and  that  God  and  the 
Saviour  loved  it.  I never  heard  him  make  a speech, 
— a great  speech,  — whatever  were  the  topic,  or 
the  time,  that  did  not  leave  the  impression  that 
he  loved  nothing,  desired  nothing,  so  much  as  the 
good  and  glory  of  America  ; that  he  knew  no  North 
and  no  South ; that  he  did  not  seem  to  summon 
around  him  the  whole  brotherhood  of  States  and 
men,  and  hold  them  all  to  his  heart ! This  gave 
freshness  and  energy  to  all  his  speech.  This  set  the 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


525 


tune  to  the  universal  harmony.  Even  his  studies 
revealed  this  passion.  He  knew  American  history 
by  heart,  as  a statesman,  not  as  an  antiquary,  should 
know  it ; the  plain,  noble  men,  the  high  aims,  and 
hard  fortunes  of  the  colonial  time  ; the  agony  and 
the  glory  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  and  of  the  age 
of  the  Constitution,  were  all  familiar  to  him ; but 
chiefly  he  loved  to  mark  how  the  spirit  of  national 
life  was  evolving  itself  all  the  while  ; how  the  colo- 
nies grew  to  regard  one  another  as  the  children  of 
the  same  mother,  and  therefore  fraternally ; how  the 
common  danger,  the  common  oppression,  of  the  ante- 
revolutionary  and  revolutionary  period  served  to  fuse 
them  into  one ; how  the  Constitution  made  them 
formally  one  ; and  how  the  grand  and  sweet  and 
imperial  sentiment  of  a united  national  life  came  at 
last  to  penetrate  and  warm  that  whole  vast  and 
various  mass,  and  move  it  as  a soul. 

“ Spiritus  intus  alit,  totamque  infusa  per  artus 
Mens  agitat  molem,  et  raagno  se  corpore  miscet.” 

In  this  master  sentiment  I find  the  hey  to  all  his 
earlier  and  all  his  later  policy  and  opinions.  Through 
his  whole  lifetime,  this  is  the  central  principle  that 
runs  through  all,  accounts  for  all,  reconciles  all. 

In  the  department  of  a mere  adventurous  and 
originating  policy,  I do  not  think  he  desired  to  dis- 
tinguish himself.  In  the  department  of  a restless 
and  arrogant  and  clamorous  reform,  I know  he  did 
not  wish  to  distinguish  himself.  The  general  ten- 
dency of  his  mind,  the  general  scope  of  his  politics, 
were  towards  conservation. 

This  rested  on  a deep  conviction  that,  if  the  gov- 
ernment continued  to  exist,  and  this  national  life 


626 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


continued  to  be  kept,  and  if  these  States  were  held 
in  peace  together,  the  growth  of  it,  the  splendia 
future  of  it,  were  as  certain  as  the  courses  of  the 
seasons.  He  thought  it  wiser,  therefore,  always,  that 
we  should  grow  great  under  the  Union,  than  that  we 
should  be  forced  to  grow  great  b}'"  legislation.  He 
thought  it  wiser,  therefore,  at  first,  — local  opinion 
may  have,  or  may  not  have,  a little  infiuenced  this, 
— to  let  America  grow  into  a manufacturing  people, 
than  that  she  should  be  forced  to  become  so.  But 
when  that  policy  was  adopted,  and  millions  had  been 
invested  under  it,  and  a vast,  delicate,  and  precious 
interest  had  grown  up,  then  it  seemed  to  him  that 
just  so  much  had  been  added  to  our  American  life, 
that  for  so  much  we  had  gone  forward  in  our  giant 
course,  and  he  would  guard  it  and  keep  it. 

He  did  not  favor  a premature  and  unprincipled 
expansion  of  territory ; though  he  saw  and  rejoiced 
to  see,  if  America  continued  just,  and  continued 
brave,  and  the  Union  lasted,  how  widely  — to  what 
Pacific  and  tropic  seas  — she  must  spread,  — and  how 
conspicuous  a fame  of  extent  was  spread  out  before 
her.  But  when  the  annexation  was  made  and  the 
line  drawn  and  the  treaty  signed,  then  he  went  for 
her,  however  “butted  and  bounded;  ” then  he  kept 
steady  to  the  compact  of  annexation  ; then  there  was 
no  date  so  small,  no  line  so  remote,  that  he  would 
not  plant  on  it  the  ensign  all  radiant,  that  no  foreign 
aggression  might  come  ! Here  you  have  the  Wehster- 
ianism  of  Webster. 

I cannot  trace  this  great  central  principle  and  this 
master  sentiment  and  trait  which  is  the  characteristic 
of  his  whole  politics,  through  the  last  years  of  his  life, 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


527 


without  awakening  feelings,  some  feelings  unsuited 
to  the  time.  I believe,  you  believe,  the  country  and 
history  will  believe,  that  all  he  said  and  all  he  did,  he 
said  and  did  out  of  a “ full  heart  for  the  Constitu- 
tion,” and  that  the  “austere  glory”  of  that  crisis  of 
his  America  and  of  himself  will  shine  his  brightest 
glory.  When  some  years  have  passed  away,  if  not 
yet,  that  civil  coirrage,  that  wisdom  which  combines, 
constructs,  and  reconciles  ; which  discerns  that  in  the 
political  world,  in  our  political  world  especially,  no 
theory  and  no  idea  may  be  pressed  to  its  extreme, 
and  that  common  sense,  good  temper,  good  nature, 
and  not  the  pedantry  of  logical  abstraction,  and  the 
clamor  of  intemperate  sectional  partisanships,  are  the 
true  guides  of  life ; and  that  deemed  a gloomy  fool- 
ishness, refuted  by  our  whole  history,  that  because 
in  this  cluster  of  States  there  are  different  institu- 
tions, a different  type  of  industry,  different  moral 
estimates,  they  cannot  live  together  and  grow  together 
to  a common  nationality  by  forbearance  and  reason ; 
that  an  honest,  jnst,  and  well-principled  patriotism 
is  a higher  moral  virtue  than  a virulent  and  noisy 
philanthropy ; and  that  to  build  and  keep  this  nation 
is  the  true  way  to  serve  God  and  serve  man,  — these 
traits  and  these  opinions  will  be  remembered  as  the 
noblest  specimen  of  the  genius  and  wisdom  of  Web- 
ster. Better  than  any  other  passage,  or  any  other 
catastrophe,  these  will  be  thought  most  happily  to 
have  “ concluded  the  great  epic  of  his  life.”  I refer 
3'ou  for  them  all  to  his  immortal  volumes  ; lasting  as 
the  granite  of  our  mountains,  lasting  as  the  pillars  of 
our  capitol  and  our  Constitution. 

They  say  he  was  ambitious ! Yes ; as  Ames  said 


528 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTER  DINNER. 


of  Hamilton,  “ there  is  no  doubt  that  he  desired 
glory  ; and  that,  feeling  his  own  force,  he  longed  to 
deck  his  brow  with  the  wreath  of  immortality.”  But 
I believe  he  would  have  yielded  his  arm,  his  frame  to 
be  burned,  before  he  would  have  sought  to  grasp  the 
highest  prize  of  earth  by  any  means,  by  any  organi- 
zation, by  any  tactics,  by  any  speech,  which  in  the 
least  degree  endangered  the  harmony  of  the  system. 

They  say,  too,  he  loved  New  England ! He  loved 
New  Hampshire  — that  old  granite  world  — the  crys- 
tal hills,  gray  and  cloud -topped ; the  river,  whose 
murmur  lulled  his  cradle ; the  old  hearth-stone  ; the 
grave  of  father  and  mother.  He  loved  Massachusetts, 
which  adopted  and  honored  him  — that  sounding  sea- 
shore, that  charmed  elm-tree  seat,  that  reclaimed 
farm,  that  choice  herd,  that  smell  of  earth,  that  dear 
library,  those  dearer  friends  ; but  the  “ sphere  of  his 
duties  was  his  true  country.”  Dearly  he  loved  you, 
for  he  was  grateful  for  the  open  arms  with  which  you 
welcomed  the  stranger  and  sent  him  onwards  and 
upwards. 

But  when  the  crisis  came,  and  the  winds  were  all 
let  loose,  and  that  sea  of  March  “ wrought  and  was 
tempestuous,”  then  3'^ou  saAv  that  he  knew  even  you 
only  as  you  were,  American  citizens ; then  you  saw 
him  rise  to  the  true  nature  and  stature  of  American 
citizenship  ; then  you  read  on  his  brow  only  what  he 
thought  of  tlie  whole  Republic;  then  you  saw  him 
fold  the  robes  of  his  habitual  patriotism  around  him, 
and  counsel  for  all  — for  all. 

So  then  he  served  you  — “ to  be  pleased  with  his 
service  was  your  affair,  not  his.” 

And  now  what  would  he  do,  what  would  he  be  if 


SPEECH  AT  THE  WEBSTEK  DINNER. 


529 


he  were  here  to-day?  I do  not  presume  to  know. 
But  what  a loss  we  have  in  him. 

I have  read  that  in  some  hard  battle,  when  the  tide 
was  running  against  him,  and  his  ranks  were  break- 
ing, some  one  in  the  agony  of  a need  of  generalship 
exclaimed,  “ Oh  for  an  hour  of  Dundee  ! ” 

So  say  I,  Oh  for  an  hour  of  Webster  now  ! 

Oh  for  one  more  roll  of  that  thunder  inimitable  I 

One  more  peal  of  that  clarion  ! 

One  more  grave  and  bold  counsel  of  moderation ! 

One  more  throb  of  American  feeling  ! 

One  more  Farewell  Address  ! And  then  might  he 
ascend  unhindered  to  the  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his 
God. 

But  this  is  a vain  wish,  and  I can  only  offer  you 
this  sentiment  — 

The  birthday  of  Webster  — then  best,  then  only 
well  celebrated  — when  it  is  given  as  he  gave  that 
marvellous  brain,  that  large  heart,  and  that  glorious 
life,  to  our  country,  our  whole  country,  our  united 
country. 


Cambridge:  Press  of  John  Wilson  & Son. 


i 


Uo^oii  o9bii?'<; 


Addresses  and  Oration& 

of  Rufus  Choate 


304  C545A  596272 


